


Run Like Hell

by babsbatgirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, Casual Sex, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Horror, Longing glances across a rose, Tragic Romance, azry has issues, human issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 78,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babsbatgirl/pseuds/babsbatgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Azry-” said Duncan, and for some reason, so much hatred boiled up in Azry when her name fell so causally from Duncan's mouth. She could not bear anyone else but her family saying her name anymore. She would not. She would not join the Wardens as who she was this morning. She could not be Azry the Warden.<br/>“Adaia, Duncan. You wanted a Warden. Azry is not a Warden,” she said, filling her voice with steel while tears still streaked her face.</p><p>Born a city elf, Azry Tabris will fight in her mother's name to end the Blight and show the entire world that the elven people are still to be respected, and that one person can make every difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything Could Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fair reader, and why thank you for stumbling onto my first fic on Ao3! In all seriousness this has been a project of mine for a couple of months and I'm only just starting down the path of getting it done, but I've loved writing Azry's story.  
> This is all based of four playthroughs, two mine, one my friend's (who is also my lovely beta) and the third is a collaborative one. It's been wonderful 'researching' Fereldan and its many wonders for this fic, and I really hope you enjoy it.  
> Love love love xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war we said we'd fight together  
> I guess we thought that's just what humans do  
> Letting darkness grow  
> As if we need its palette and we need its colour  
> But now I've seen it through  
> And now I know the truth  
> That anything could happen
> 
> \--Anything Could Happen, Ellie Goulding

Summer had come to the Denerim Alienage in full force, like a military parade. Appropriate, as summer was never truly welcomed among the elves. The sweat made their clothes stick to their bodies, the worn fabric rubbing on their skin and leaving patchy, red itches. The river that ran the length of the enclosed space had turned to little more than dried mud. Even the straggling weeds that grew around the Tree of the People in the centre of the Alienage had turned brown, the moisture having been sapped out of them.

It was in this heat that Azry Tabris, daughter of Adaia and Cyrion, found herself in the relative coolness of the stone basement below her home. She had never been more grateful that her mother had insisted that they needed a space underground for storing food. Cyrion had argued that Adaia didn't want to it store food, but to store weapons. She hadn't been able to argue against that.

Now a sword rack sat in-between barrels of preserved food and Azry lay on the floor beneath it, a small dagger pressed to her cheek. The cold metal provided a lot of relief from the heat building up on her face. She could hear her father and cousins roaming around upstairs, probably looking for her, but Azry had no intention of leaving the basement anytime soon.

"I told you, Soris, she's down here," echoed Shianni's voice from the top of the stairs. Azry groaned, and folded an arm over her eyes. She could hear Shianni's footsteps as she descended into the basement, and her tutting echoed in the small space. Azry was having none of her mothering.

"No. I am not getting up ever again. Leave me in peace," Azry slurred, her voice a thick with sleep. She didn't move her arm from her eyes, so she couldn't see Shianni's patronising look, but she could feel it. 

The silence stretched between them and Azry began to feel less and less comfortable. It was a subtle thing, but it was something that Shianni was talented at and one of the reasons why Azry had been avoiding her.

After a long moment Azry sighed heavily and sat up. She glared at her red-haired cousin, who smiled unashamedly in return.

"I hate you, I hope you get eaten by dragons," Azry grumbled as she stood up.

"You'll thank me when you don't arrive at your wedding looking like something the last Blight forgot to take back," Shianni replied. 

Azry turned another glare at her cousin, but it was lacking any malice. Her stomach churned with nerves and the weight of her pending nuptials.

She sighed in defeat. "Thank you, Shia. I really needed to be reminded of my lack of a future from today," Azry replied, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

She tightened her grip on her dagger. The handle was smooth from years of use, but the little notches of the simple design were comforting and familiar. She replaced the dagger on the weapons rack, hanging it by the hilt in the middle. She ran a finger over the design, something based on an old God, Falon'din, as her mother had called it, with her family name written in the old tongue. 

Memories of her mother training her with this dagger, and telling her about her ancestors from the Dalish clans, swam through Azry's mind. She couldn't work out if the feelings they accompanied were welcome or unwelcome, and the resulting clash of emotions made her feel ill.

Shianni's hand slid on top of hers, Azry let go of the dagger to clutch her cousin's hand in return, trying not to betray her fears through her expression. Shianni's look said she knew, knew how frightened Azry was of how quickly her life was changing and in that moment Azry was endlessly grateful for her cousin.

"Come on. We'll go tease the drunks before we get ready. I think Valora wants to see how you're doing too," Shianni said, her voice bright as she coaxed her towards the stairs. Azry pulled a face but let herself be led away from the cool sanctuary of the basement.

"Wonderful. Let's go see how Valora, the simpering waif, is doing on the eve of her wedding," she said bitingly. She could hear Shianni's suppressed laugh, and grinned.

They dropped hands as the mounted the stairs and once they were through the door, the blast of heat that hit Azry was enough to make her eyes water and sweat prickle across the rest of her body. Soris, Shianni's brother evidenced by the same flame coloured hair, was lying underneath the table, a cup of wine close to his hand. Cyrion was standing on the table, fastening with what looked like dried flowers in the candelabra that hung over the kitchen.

"Creators, has it been this hot all day?" Azry said, immediately slumping down next to Soris, and taking a sip of his vaguely warm wine. 

Soris moaned a little under his breath, which half answered her question. Her father nodded in response, but he was still focused on properly fastening the dried flower wreath.

"Are you excited about getting married to dullest creature in the Alienage?" Azry said quietly to Soris, her tone full of mirth. 

Soris turned his head to give her a look. "She's just quiet. We can't all be sword swinging heroes like you, Azry," Soris mumbled, but his face looked so miserable that Azry let him be.

"Have you seen Nelaros today?" She asked, changing the subject to her own betrothed. 

Nelaros and her had been friends since he had come to Denerim, which made the idea of marrying him more bearable. Last time she had talked to him, he'd felt the same way about the wedding that she did, but she'd had her suspicions that he had been looking forward to being married.

"I haven't, apparently he's been with Valora all day, getting tips. And I'm not allowed to see Valora until later," Soris said, and the misery in his voice was so strained that Azry just stopped talking altogether.

Soris had wanted to try to court another lady since he had come of age, and this arranged marriage had taken its toll on him. Azry didn't like the idea of being forced into a marriage she didn't want, but at least she already knew Nelaros and liked him. Soris was in love with someone else and had to marry a stranger.

Shianni had gone to collect Azry's wedding finery from her 'room'. It had cost so much money to put the basement into the house that there hadn't been much for a proper room for Azry, but that had never bothered her much. She spent more time in the basement as it was. Upon Shianni's return, she saw Soris and Azry on the floor, now taking it in turns to sip the wine, and sighed.

"Seriously? I just got you off the floor downstairs," Shianni said, sounding as if she was in actual physical pain to see her cousin on the ground again.

Azry grumbled as she stood, Soris laughing at her face and Azry had to restrain herself from kicking the rest of the wine on him. 

Shianni shooed Azry away from the table, most likely so that she could pull Soris out from underneath it, when a shout was heard from outside.

Cyrion's hands dropped from the wreath as his head snapped around to the door. Azry recognised that expression, she'd seen it every time there was a commotion in the Alienage after her mother had died. Seeing it now, when it was supposed to be a happy day, set Azry's blood boiling and she immediately went to the door and flung it open, ignoring the cries from her family to stop.

Following the noise, Azry could see a few finely dressed men in the centre circle, near the Tree of the People. It was only once one of them turned their head that it became clear their reason for being here, and Azry's quiet anger blossomed into a full blown rage and she ran the distance between her house and the now circle of onlookers surrounding them.

Humans.

It was only once she was close enough that she saw one of them had backed a young, blonde elven girl against the Tree. The rest of the humans were leering at her, laughing as the leader got closer and closer. Azry shoved her way through the onlookers, glaring at them for their silence and stillness. An older elven man had the grace to look ashamed.

"Hey!" Azry yelled as she approached the humans.

One of them looked over his shoulder, looking amused, but no one else made any move to acknowledge her. Looking closer at the young girl, Azry's stomach turned and bile grew thick in her mouth. 

Valora, Soris's wife-to-be and easily the most innocent woman in the entire Alienage, met Azry's eyes and the only emotion in those pale blue depths was pure, unadulterated fear. 

Azry steeled every nerve in her body and pushed the man off her, putting all her strength behind the push.  
He hit the ground hard with a satisfying thump, paired with a groan of pain. The men around him immediately drew swords, their ends pointed straight at Azry's throat. She narrowed her eyes, her fear clouded by her rage and she stood in front of Valora, firmly putting herself before her.

"Fucking whore, how dare you even think to touch me!" The human Azry pushed spat, fury making his face red. 

She would've laughed at the attempted insult but her anger made everything in her world simply about protecting Valora and getting this trash out of her town. She stepped nearer to the closest human and his sword bit into her throat, an ugly sneer on his face. 

She leaned into the sword's touch, adrenaline making her immune to the pain. Valora's gentle touch to her hand did made her pause, and she didn't approach any further, grabbing Valora's hand in her own and clutching it tight.

The leader had managed to stagger to his feet at this point, his face screwed up like one of the stray dogs when someone approached them. 

"Don't you know who I am, knife-ear?!" He spat, standing behind the man whose sword was still resting on Azry's throat. 

She grinned, teeth flashing and full of venom.

"Of course not. All you humans look the same," she shot back, and while not one of her best comeback, it had the desired affect as the human's face grew even more twisted in rage.

The men accompanying him closed further in on Azry and Valora, Azry drawing back only to cover more of Valora, who to her credit was not the wilting flower Azry thought she was. The whole time she had remained quiet and still, letting Azry take the lead. Maybe if Azry survived this she'd stop judging people she barely knew.

"I'm the Arl's son, elf. You just attacked the Arl's son. The rest of Denerim wouldn't take too kindly to that, now would they?" The leader said, and the sneer that accompanied it made him look every inch the spoiled noble brat he was.

Before Azry had time to retort or even react to his words, a pot flew through the air and shattered against his face, and he was on the ground again. 

Azry turned to follow the trajectory of the pot and found Shianni at it's beginning, fury and outrage on her face as clear as the shock on Soris's, who was not far behind her. The group of elves crowding the area began murmuring assent and nodding at her. Shianni, to her credit, simply waved off her brother's mumbles of horror and went straight to Valora, her path free from the humans that were now tending to their fallen leader. Azry was pleased to see that the throw had broken or cut open his nose.

"Shianni, that was remarkable, absolutely incredible. You should throw pots at people more often," Azry quipped, grinning at her cousin who was now checking Valora for any harm.

Shianni's mouth twitched upwards slightly, but all trace of humour was gone when she saw Azry's neck. Only once her cousin's outrage had manifested again on her face did Azry feel the sting of the rather deep cut on her neck and the trickle of warmth that was making a trail down her chest.

"How dare you, how dare you, you-" the Arl's son stammered, rage making his words trip over his tongue.

Shianni made no attempt to even acknowledge him, even as he tried to stand up. Azry had never seen this bolder side of her cousin before and was remarkably impressed. Neither of them noticed the arm around Azry's neck until she was pulled against one of the humans, and Shianni was being held back by another.

The Arl's son stepped between the cousins, but Azry could still hear her cousin fighting her captor's grip and smiled, even as she struggled against her own.

"Shianni! Azry!" Soris yelled, terror rife in his voice.

Azry could see that he'd placed himself between the fight and Valora, and it gave Azry hope that he could be as brave as his sister. The Arl's son had seen Azry respond to her name and as he pulled a small dagger out of its sheath, he hissed it under his breath. He lay the knife along the cut, and the sharp blade stung as it dug in. Azry couldn't hold back a wince, but her eyes remained locked with his. She would never admit it, but the look of intent in his eyes made her sick for more than one reason.

"Azry,” he said, as if tasting the word, “you are far too vicious for something so delicate. I think," he pressed the knife a little deeper, and a slight gasp left her mouth, "that I should teach you some manners."

"Or perhaps I, you," came a voice from the crowd. 

The human turned to look at the newcomer, Azry could just see past him to her father, and see could remember exactly the last time his face had been that pale and his eyes so terrified. The crowd parted and the person who spoke stepped forward, revealing herself to be a priestess of the Chantry, and her face was like thunder when her eyes fell on Azry. 

"It is terrible manners to cause riots on wedding days," she continued, bearing down on the Arl's son like a storm cloud. 

Azry could feel the man holding her back loosen his grip and in two swift motions she yanked her arms away and spun to punch him directly in his face. The man fell with a dopey look, collapsing onto the ground. 

The Chantry Mother looked down at the Arl's son, and Azry could feel the fear emanating from him. While she hated leaving her quarry to someone else, Shianni was still being held. Azry made quick work of prying Shianni away from the human holding her, who seemed to be frozen at the sight of the priest. 

Azry kicked his legs out from under him for good measure and lead Shianni over to her brother and Valora. Valora immediately hugged Shianni, murmuring something that sounded like thanks, but before she could do the same to Azry, she moved closer to the quiet argument the Arl's son and the mother were having.

"-will not have anyone from your house conducting themselves in this way, Vaughn. To prey on elves is weak and foolish. Leave here and take your friends with you. And May the Maker guide you towards some common sense," the priest was saying.

Azry bristled at the insult. How dare anyone assume that the elves were weak, especially a Chantry priest. The men that came with the Arl's son, apparently named Vaughn, managed to regroup behind him, and it was with one more scathing look that the priest let him go. 

To Azry's pleasure, his cheeks were fiery with shame, as he walked away from the Chantry Mother. His eyes grew hard with fury when he saw Azry. She tensed up and settled into a battle ready stance.

"You haven't seen the last of me, knife-ear," he whispered, his voice laced with venom, but all his words made Azry feel like laughing.

"Unless your nanny has something to say about it," she replied, not bothering to whisper as she gestured at the Mother.

The colour in Vaughn's cheeks returned, and he shoved his way past Azry, who was about to shove him back when a hand on her shoulder yanked her back towards the elven onlookers. She shook it off and watched the humans' retreating backs with a hungry gaze. How she would've loved to run after them and beat them into submission.

She was snapped out of her violent thoughts when the hand returned to her shoulder, nudging her back down the road towards her house and she shook it off, turning around, angry words already on her lips when the face of her father came into view and he was more scared then she'd ever seen him. Azry threw her arms around his waist and hugged him fiercely. Cyrion's arms were around her just as tight and Azry pretended that it wasn't tears she could feel on her neck as her father sobbed into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't let them hurt Valora," Azry said, not acknowledging her own thick throat and welling eyes. "She's like a fawn, her knees don't even work." 

Her father laughed through one of his sobs, and finally lifted his head, his hands cupping his daughter's face. Azry felt guilt settle in her stomach like mud. The last time Cyrion had seen someone he loved held by humans it had ended in her death. Azry hugged him fiercely, trying convey how sorry she was for frightening him into it.

"Azry!" She heard a voice say, and her father let her go enough that she could turn and see Nelaros running up to her. 

Cyrion let his arms drop from his daughter so that Azry could run up to her betrothed. When she reached him, Nelaros enveloped her in his arms so tight that she could feel the slight tremor along his arms. 

"By the Maker, what the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!" He said, his voice straining with worry. Azry could hardly bear to hear it in her closest friend's voice.

"I clearly wasn't thinking, but would you really expect that of me?" She said, trying to joke. 

Nelaros's laugh was watery and weak, but he finally released her and his smile at least seemed relieved. 

"I couldn't just watch that happen. Not after what happened to my mother. I can't see that happen again, Nela," Azry said, and she could see Nelaros contemplating her words. 

She'd considered him to be the serious half to Azry's brazen tendencies, and always was the person to calm her hot head. In return Azry had taught him how to be passionate and to fight fiercely and they'd been as close as siblings since he had come from the Highever Alienage three years ago. As they grew older, the boundaries of their relationship changed somewhat, and while it would no longer be comfortable to call Nelaros her brother, he was still very dear to her and she knew that he felt the same, if not more. It would be her greatest regret to prevent someone who could love Nelaros as much as he could love them from being with him.

"I- I don't want to lose you, Az, but I know that you'd never back down from a fight. I'm just going to ask that next time you try to keep their swords away from your neck!" Nelaros said, his voice going a little strained as he gently touched the cut in question. 

Azry felt a slight sting but steeled herself not to flinch. She'd had worse.

"I'll be fine. Shianni will probably have a necklace or something to cover it up," Azry said, taking Nelaros's probing hand in her own and kissing it. 

He kissed her forehead in return and offered to escort her back to her house, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She curled one around his waist and they made their way down from the Tree of the People. 

Azry spared a look behind her, and saw Elder Valendrian making polite conversation with the Chantry Mother. The woman met Azry's gaze and nodded respectfully to her. Azry turned her head, the taste of bile in the back of her throat.

"I know you don't like it that she stepped in, but I'd rather her in harm's way then you," Nelaros whispered conspiratorially to her. Azry pretended to gasp in horror.

"Put an elf before a Chanter? Now I know the heat has gotten to you!" She replied in mock outrage. 

Nelaros barked a laugh, which brought a smile to Azry and dispelled her feelings of distate. They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, Nelaros occasionally stroking Azry's shoulder with his thumb, as if he was trying to comfort her. Everything he did was driven by love and it made Azry appreciate him so much more and also hate that their marriage had to be arranged this way.

When they were close to Azry's home, Azry could see her father talking to a heavily armed human man with familiarity. She frowned as she and Nelaros grew closer to them, and spotted an equally well armed elf girl standing just behind him, though her armour was lighter and had patterns that Azry thought were reminiscent of the design on her mother's dagger.

"Is that a Dalish?" Nelaros said, his voice quiet and oddly reverent. 

They grew close enough that the conversation could be heard, though not understood, and Azry could see the elf's face in more detail. She was very young, and had tattoos of thick, black crossing lines in an oddly architectural pattern, as well as some softer, wave like patterns, and her bow and armour were unlike any make Azry had seen in Denerim. She could also see the lines of her tattoos along her neck, as the disappeared below her armour.

"I think you're right. But what's my father doing talking to that human?" Azry murmured in reply. 

Nelaros was silent and Azry did not know what she would've liked him to say. All she knew was that her father was smiling and talking to the human, who laughed and smiled in return and looked at her father with an air of such respect that Azry had never seen given to an elf by a human.

Nelaros turned her towards her door, rather than keep walking towards her father and the strangers, and when they got to the door Shianni burst out of it, already in quite a flurry about Azry's rather unkempt state. Shianni's part in the fight had been forgotten, judging from the lecture Azry was getting.

As Shianni pulled her wayward cousin into the house, Azry chanced a look over at the Dalish girl again. She seemed to have had the same idea, and as their eyes met, a feeling about her settled over Azry. She did not look like the kind of person to say much at all, but her gaze regarded Azry in such a way that she felt as if she was auditioning for a play that she had not read the script for. 

The Dalish girl's eyes were wide and deep brown, but their depths were clouded. Azry could've stared into them for hours trying to unlock their secrets, but the door closed between them and the feeling was gone.


	2. Beating Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shianni prepares Azry for her wedding, with a few lovely surprises to get her through the day.
> 
> And I don't know where I'm going  
> But I know it's gonna be a long time  
> And I'll be leaving in the morning  
> Come the white wine bitter sunlight
> 
> Wanna hear your beating heart tonight  
> Before the bleeding sun comes alive  
> I want to make the best of what is left, hold tight  
> And hear my beating heart one last time
> 
> \-- Beating Heart, Ellie Goulding

"Move one more time and I shall make sure these flowers never come off," Shianni growled as Azry fidgeted again, bored with sitting still and bored with holding a cloth to her neck. 

The blood from her wound had been cleaned off her by a tutting Shianni but the wound still weeped slightly. Azry could barely feel her elbow anymore.

"You wouldn't dare!" Azry said, filling her voice with dread, that she wasn't sure was real or not. 

Shianni bent over her cousin's shoulder, giving her one of the famous death glares. Azry sighed, before straightening her posture and keeping herself still while Shianni finished pinning the flower crown to Azry's hair. 

“I liked you better when you were throwing pots at people,” she grumbled, and heard Shianni's answering snort.

"All right, I'm done. Go check and make sure it's even," Shianni said, finally backing away from Azry's head. 

Azry rolled her eyes as she stood. 

"Creators forbid my bloody flower crown be off centre," she said, distate in every syllable. 

Seeing herself in the looking glass was like seeing another person. Shianni's meticulous scrubbing had left her face pink and thoroughly clean, and she had managed to scrape enough kohl together to outline Azry's eyes lightly, making the blue stand out more than the grey. 

The flower crown was made up of more dried flowers than fresh, but the white of the wild daisies did plenty to brighten up the rather sad looking pink roses and white and red Andraste's Grace, and it sat on top of the simple tucked up bun that Shianni had twisted Azry's blonde hair into. 

"Well done, it's on my head and I look like a noble lady," Azry said, turning to face Shianni, who looked far too pleased with herself. Azry herself was trying to not stare at herself for too long.

"Good. All right, let's check that neck wound of yours," Shianni said, moving Azry's hand that held the cloth away from her neck. 

Judging from her expression, it was rather ugly looking. Or closer to fatal than Azry had originally thought. Shianni stared at it for so long, that the only thing that stirred her out of it was Cyrion closing the door to his bedroom, emerging in his own finery. It wasn't much, just a cleaner pair of pants and the whitest shirt he owned, but he looked a lot more dressed up than he usually did.

"Azuria, don't you look beautiful!" He said, smiling at her so brightly. 

Azry could not help but smile back, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, partly out of embarrassment that he used her full name, but mostly because he was her father and him calling her beautiful meant a lot more than from anyone else. Her dress for the wedding was simple, just a plain white thing with long sleeves, but it was the only dress she'd probably ever wear.

"It must be odd seeing your daughter dressed like a lady for once, Uncle Cyrion," Shianni said, her serious voice not matching the mirth on her face.

Cyrion laughed as Azry glared at her cousin, already making plans to burn the bloody dress as soon as she could. As Shianni measured out a section of fabric, Cyrion took the opportunity to hug Azry, but not as tightly as usual. Azry realised it was because he didn't want to make her dress crumpled, and she found herself oddly annoyed.

"I'm going to see how Soris is doing. I'll see you soon," Cyrion said, kissing Azry's brow and leaving. 

Azry was rather annoyed that he'd hugged her so lightly for the sake of her dress, but that was forgotten when Shianni finally finished measuring out fabric. She'd taken the cloth Azry used to blot the wound, torn off the bloodied parts and folded into a thin pad. This she got Azry to hold while she wrapped a small amount of bandage over it and around her neck, and once it was tight enough, she secured it with a pin. It was still obviously a bandage to cover her wound, but the fabric was clean and bright and the pad was rather unobtrusive. Azry kind of liked having a bandage covering a wound from a fight in her wedding ensemble. Made her feel a little more like herself.

"Okay, you're nearly done, I've just got two more things," Shianni said, and Azry groaned loudly enough that Shianni actually cracked a smile. 

"Don't worry, you'll love them. Go down and get your mother's dagger, will you?" Shianni said, and the twinkle in her eye immediately made Azry suspicious.

Azry made her way to the basement door, with Shianni calling to her to not let her hem get dirty, and descended, collecting the Dalish made dagger. Azry paused for a moment, thinking about the Dalish warrior that had been with the human man. Her father never had explained who that was. She must ask him when she got the chance. Hearing Shianni call her name roused her from her thoughts and Azry climbed back up into the main room, her dress hem pulled up over her knees, as she would rather avoid Shianni's wrath. She let it go once she was next to Shianni, who was hovering over a belt and a necklace, both very ornate looking, that she'd apparently only just laid out on the table. Azry laid her dagger next to them, wondering what the odd looking pouch on the belt was for.

"Cyrion...he wanted to give this to you himself, but it may have been just that little bit too hard, considering what happened today," Shianni murmured, picking up the necklace first. 

A lump rose in Azry's throat when she recognised the soft leather choker. She remembered her mother wearing it, the green glass catching the light and making her a thousand times more beautiful than anything Azry would ever see again. Shianni fastened it around Azry's neck, the choker nestling against her throat. 

"It doesn't quite cover the bandage, but it looks so lovely on you," Shianni said, smiling as Azry went back to the looking glass. She had to hold back tears as she stared at the necklace, the familiarity of it making her miss her mother terribly. Lightly, she stroked the largest glass oval, the green glinting in the afternoon sun.

"Shia..." Azry began, but Shianni waved a hand to quiet the words that were on Azry's lips. She had a scrap of fabric in her hand and began to gently dab Azry's brow.

"I can see those tears forming, and don't you dare start crying. You're already sweating and if you cry your kohl will run and I only just got it even!" Shianni exclaimed, tears brimming around her eyes as well. 

Azry could not help but laugh while her cousin tried not to let them fall, even as She dabbed Azry's forehead. Shianni began laughing as well and soon they were breathless and trying to hold each other up while they caught their breaths. 

They grinned at each other mischievously, like they were naughty children again and for a moment it was like they were, and in her mind's eye Azry could see Soris trying to stay out of sight, his tiny head buried in a book, Cyrion and Adaia drinking sweet tea with Auntie Elspeth and the brightness of her smile when she looked on at her sister's happiness.

Finally they drew enough breath to regain a sense of normality, and Shianni quickly cleaned up the slight bit of kohl that had become smudged around Azry's eyes. Once they were neatened up, she took the belt from the table. She also picked up the dagger and Azry's eyes widened as Shianni slipped it into the pouch that had confused Azry. The dagger fit so neatly in it, and with a slip to cover the hilt, it looked as if the dagger was just a part of the belt. Azry's mouth dropped open in pure shock.

"I was so hoping you'd like it, it's a wedding present from Soris and me. He found this really lovely leather that's just thick enough to hold the dagger without splitting and-" Whatever Shianni was going to say next was lost on Azry as she grabbed her cousin and wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around her.

"You made me a belt that can hold my mother's dagger. Shia, I can't begin to tell you how much that means to me," Azry said, her voice full of tears that threatened to spill over. As Shianni wrapped her arms around her, holding her just as fiercely, Azry thanked anything that could hear her thoughts that she was blessed enough to have a cousin so close that she may as well be a sister. The very idea that Shianni had put that much thought into her wedding present was something so incredible that Azry's heart was swollen with so much love for her, and Soris too. Shianni managed to separate Azry from her for long enough to tie the belt around her waist, tying it over the pouch holding the dagger. Azry had a look at herself and was amazed by how well disguised the dagger was. It simply looking like an ornate buckle. 

"And you made this? On your own?" Azry asked, a little breathless.

"Soris found me the right materials, then it was just experimenting until I got it right. What do you think?" Shianni asked, sounding oddly apprehensive, as if Azry would not love it. Azry embraced her cousin tightly again.

"This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me," Azry said, trying not to fill her voice with emotion but failing abysmally. Shianni dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, her face beaming even as she scowled playfully at Azry.

"You made me cry, you're awful," she complained, her voice wavering. 

Azry had to steel herself fiercely so that she wouldn't start crying herself. Shianni calmed down enough to give Azry a last look over, her eyes so big with excitement and genuine joy that Azry could barely contain the love she had for her cousin, before she quickly went to change into a clean dress. While she did that, Azry did a few experimental stretches, to see how the belt moved with her. The part with the dagger was obviously more stiff than the rest, but it really did look just like an ornate buckle. She made a mental note to praise Shianni's ingenuinity more often. Shianni herself finally emerged in her own dress, and did her hair up loosely and flattened out the blue and grey outfit of her own making, before straightening Azry's, who for her part still could not stop staring at the belt. She may have been scared for her wedding this morning, but now, in her finery and with a concealed weapon, she felt ready to take on anything.

There was a knock on the door as Shianni finished pinning a pair of daisies to her own loose up do, and Soris entered, followed by Cyrion. Soris seemed gobsmacked upon seeing Azry, though she could not blame him, she nearly did not recognise herself.

"I think the groom is in for a shock, he's probably not aware that there was a woman under all that weaponry you're usually carrying," Soris said, grinning as he hugged Azry. 

She was pleased to see he was cheered from his sadness this morning. She knew how much he had dreaded today and to see him looking genuinely happy made her feel very comforted.

"I think the entire Alienage will be in for a shock, seeing what went down this morning," Azry joked in reply, and Soris let out a short bark of laughter, while Cyrion pulled a very disapproving face at his daughter. 

Shianni finally stepped away from the looking glass, her hair in place and greeted her brother with a quick hug. Azry then had to hold back a laugh as she scrutinised every inch of his deep blue formal jacket, making sure every mend in it was well hidden and the sigh that came from Soris's mouth was like a death rattle.

Cyrion used this time to go to his daughter, and Azry could feel the depth of emotion he felt, seeing Adaia's necklace. He lightly touched the choker, before he cupped Azry's face and carefully kissed the top of her head.

"It looks beautiful, and I know your mother would want you to have it," he murmured. Azry's felt tears well in her eyes again and swore that it would be the last time today that she was close to tears.

"I miss her. I wish she was here," Azry said, ignoring the waver in her voice. 

Cyrion wrapped an arm around her and held her, and she heard his soft sigh. He missed her just as much, and the guilt that started when she got away from the fight lay in her stomach like a stone. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and Cyrion kissed her hair again.

"I know. I will worry forever but I know that you'll be fine," Cyrion said, smiling at her gently. Azry smiled back at him, feeling a little better, a little lighter.

Shianni finished her appraisal of Soris, and after announcing that he was acceptably dressed, she looped her arm through her brother's and they left the house, Azry and Cyrion following behind. As they walked towards the Tree of the People (Azry could hardly believe it had been but a few hours since she and the Arl's son had faced off, and touched the dagger handle for comfort) elves began to approach Azry and slip her a coin or offer her a flower, all small wedding presents. Azry had always loved how close knit the elves were within the Alienage, and these small offerings were enough for her to forgive them for only being passive observers this morning. They'd seen plenty of death by human hands, that was enough to make anyone cautious. By the time their small wedding party reached the tree, Azry was holding a fairly large bouquet of flowers and Cyrion's small coin pouch looked fit to burst with all the copper coins.

Before they reached the small platform for ceremonies, Azry looked in the crowd of spectators and saw the human that her father had laughed with earlier, and the serious-looking Dalish girl. The human was talking to Valendrian, the Alienage Elder, and had the same air of deep respect that he had while talking to Cyrion. The Dalish girl looked bored with her surroundings, and oddly disgusted. Azry supposed that that must be a Dalish thing. Probably not enough vines for her to swing on or something. While she could see him, Azry asked her father about the human. Cyrion followed her gaze, and he smiled fondly.

"His name is Duncan, he's a Grey Warden," Cyrion explained. Azry frowned. She knew of the Grey Wardens, everybody did, the warriors that ended the darkspawn summoning Blights. She'd not ever seen one through the Alienage though, much less accompanied by a Dalish.

"What's a Grey Warden doing here?" She questioned. Cyrion regarded her for a moment, and then looked over at Duncan.

"Maybe after the ceremony you can ask him yourself," Cyrion said, smiling conspiratorially. 

Azry huffed her annoyance, but that was quickly replaced with a bundle of nerves and a buzz of excitement when she spotted Nelaros standing on the platform in yellow embroidered formal wear. Soris did look a little shabbier next to him, but was no less handsome. 

Once Cyrion and Azry were at the foot of the stairs, and Valora and her mother had joined them, the Chantry Mother emerged from the opposite side, mounting the stairs and standing between Soris and Nelaros. Nelaros caught Azry's eye and winked. Azry couldn't help but grin back at him. 

Valendrian, apparently done talking with the Grey Warden, made his way up the stairs, and once he was on the platform, he began a speech about how the Alienage was like a family, and how quickly these two families from Highever had settled in just three years ago, referring to Nelaros' and Valora's families, but Azry stopped listening early on, instead choosing to make faces at Nelaros whenever the Elder wasn't looking her way. He responded by pulling worse ones, that nearly had her laughing out loud, until Cyrion nudged her, and gave her a warning look. She fell silent, but Nelaros rolling his eyes at her made her grin widely at him. Valendrian finally fell silent, and a polite round of applause echoed around them, Shianni even whistling. Azry turned around to poke her tongue out at her.

Cyrion and Valora's mother lead the brides up to the stairs, where the grooms stepped forward and held out their hands. Cyrion took one of Azry's, though she had to shift her bouquet to one hand, Valora having a similar issue, and placed it in Nelaros's.

"She passes to your keeping, and you to hers," Cyrion said, and Azry had to hold back her laughter at his serious tone. 

He had been worried about saying the words wrong, so Azry was pleased for him that he'd said it right. Nelaros nodded solemnly in return, and gently lead Azry up the stairs. She had refused any formal footwear, sticking to her sturdy boots and was pleased with her decision, Soris had to practically carry Valora up the stairs, as the cracks in the wood were nearly big enough for the heel to slip through.

"You look beautiful," Nelaros whispered to Azry once they were in place, side by side in front of the Chantry Mother, Valendrian standing behind her at a respectful distance.

"Speak for yourself," Azry whispered back, winking at him. 

His blush went all the way to the tips of his ears and Azry's heart melted. Valora and Soris joined them then, and the Chantry Mother began her opening speech, something about the Maker or whatever. Azry zoned out, preferring to try and goad Nelaros into a thumb war while their joined hands were hidden by the folds of her dress, when a shout went up from the spectators. All four of the brides and grooms turned, and the rage Azry had felt that morning returned tenfold.

Approaching the platform was an armoured Vaughn, and accompanying him was a platoon of estate guards, judging from the armour, which was well made and had the Arl's house symbol emblazoned on it. The crowd parted like water for them, for which Azry could not blame him. Her eyes sought out her father and Shianni, and the look of fear had returned to her father's face in such a force it made the rage Azry felt even stronger. Shianni was already making her way towards the platform, as was a few other elves around her age. A few of the older elves attempted to bar Vaughn's approach, but found themselves tossed aside by his guards.

"What is the meaning of this, Vaughn Uriel?! I told you that such behaviour was unbecoming of your house and station!" The Mother was shouting, her face pinched in anger. 

Azry felt her arguments were not really that strong, considering how little people usually cared about what happened to elves. She could see Soris keeping Valora behind him, and was pleased again by he cousin's unusual bravery. Nealros had dropped her hand, knowing that she needed both to fight with. She took a step in front of him as Vaughn mounted the first step, her hand on he concealed dagger. 

"I decided I didn't care what you had to say, Mother, and chose instead to take what I pleased," Vaughn sneered, much to the delight of his men, who called up their agreement. 

Azry bristled, barely able to stop herself from leaping on him and cutting his throat out then and there. 

"See, I'm having a little party, and I need a few lovely girls to keep my friends and I entertained," Vaughn continued, and Azry's world turned red as he knocked Soris aside, yanking Valora to him as Soris hit the wood of the platform hard.

"I will not allow this, you are a-" The Chantry Mother moved to pull Valora away from him, put her words were cut off as Vaughn smacked her across the face and she too fell. 

Valendrian had tried to step in between, his face angrier than Azry had ever seen it, but a guard had pushed him to his knees and forced him to the ground. Valora screamed, and tried to pull away from Vaughn, who simply laughed at her attempts. 

“What a pretty bride you make!” He sneered at Valora, before his eye landed on Azry. “Though not nearly as lovely as her. I suppose that will make her all the more fun to ruin. Her and the pot-thrower,” Vaughn said, casting a look behind him. 

A guard made his way through the crowd and seized Shianni, and dragged her to the bottom of the steps, Shianni screaming and struggling, with only the agonised stares of the elves to help her.

Azry could no longer hold herself back and charged at Vaughn, and she moved to take out her dagger. Suddenly she was thrown backwards, her head already swimming, and she was able to see that one of the men had swung his shield directly into her path, concussing her. Azry fell back, and heard the sickening thump as her head hit the ground. The pain exploded into her skull, making stars dance in her eyes, and her whole world spun as she tried to stand up. Vaughn sauntered over to her, and pressed his boot to her neck. She could hear the delicate glass of her choker breaking the harder he pushed. She felt her heart burst along with the glass, unable to reconcile the loss of her mother's last heirloom. Her world began to go black as it got harder and harder to breathe. The screams of the elves merged into one loud roar, the laughs of the men were growing louder in her eyes.

Vaughn's voice dripped acid when he knelt next to her head and whispered, "Oh, Azry, you and your pot throwing friend are going to be very special guests."

The last thing she could see was Soris's slumped form and Nelaros struggling to get out from under the men holding him down before the black swallowed her whole and she was lost.


	3. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azry wakes up in a locked room, and the aftermath of the events of the wedding begin.
> 
> God and His priests and His kings  
> Turning faces  
> Even they feel the cold
> 
> What you are given  
> Can't be forgotten  
> And never forsaken
> 
> \-- Cold, Aqualung and Lucy Schwartz

“...protect us, Maker protect us, Maker protect-”

“Knock it off, Noma!”

Azry slowly stirred, feeling her head throb, as voices echoed around her. It felt as if they were bouncing around in her skull. Her face was cold from the stone floor, but sadly that had done nothing to lessen the pain. She could feel tightness around her left eye, and knew that it must be swollen and blackening. She slowly tried to sit up, and heard a few familiar voices encouraging her, and gentle hands were helping her to sit up.

“By every fucking deity that ever was, my head hurts,” Azry moaned, trying to open her eyes, but her left remained stubbornly shut and her right was blurry. The laugh she heard was strained, but unmistakably Shianni's. As her sight cleared she could see her cousin leaning over her, worry written all over her face. Despite the pain in her head, Azry could not help but worry too. “What's going on?” She asked, and the look on Shianni's face nearly said it all. 

“He dragged us all here, to the Arl's Estate. His father is away at Ostagar, all the men here just follow his son's wishes,” Shianni said, her lips trembling. Azry had never seen her cousin so afraid. It was enough to bring a little of the rage Azry had felt back. She could see Shianni had more to say, but it was stuck in her throat. Azry looked to the other elf girls, only four others and Valora, thank goodness (how strange it was that Azry could be thankful for such a thing), but they all looked to Shianni to talk for them. One of them Azry recognised as the beggar's daughter, the one that was usually by the gate. The girl was barely fourteen, her body was scrawny and had no evidence of womanhood yet.  
And Vaughn would have her dragged in here as well? Azry swore to make sure his blood would splatter his own walls if they had harmed any of these girls.

Shianni opened her mouth, perhaps to continue explaining what happened, when the door swung open, revealing a troupe of guards and one more frightened elf girl. Noma, who had been the one praying by the door stood very suddenly, backing towards Shianni. The youngest girl grabbed her and pulled Noma back behind her. Azry wanted to applaud her bravery. A guard threw the girl with them at the group, and Shianni caught her, and gathered her up into her arms, as if she could protect her with just an embrace.  
Azry didn't much know what she could do to help, but she wasn't going to remain on the floor a second longer. With Valora's help, she stood, her knees shaking slightly. She felt a little dizzy still, but the fear that was rife through the room gave her enough focus to steady herself. She was amazed by Valora's steadiness. Azry was going to have to change her perceptions of allot of people, if she survived today.

“Hello ladies. We're to start escorting you to Lord Vaughn. I suggest you come quietly,” said one of the guards, his voice gravelly and every syllable threatened violence. Azry moved forward, about to tell him where he could stick his suggestion, when Noma moaned. 

“Leave us be! Why don't you just leave us alone!” She cried, sounding completely heartbroken. Azry barely had time to pity the tone she had when a guard was on her, grabbing her by her neck and dragging her up against a wall. Azry tried to run forward, to pry him off her, anything, but her knees gave out under a wave of dizziness, and Shianni had to quickly offer an arm to steady her. 

“Misbehaving, are you? You know what we do with whores that don't behave?” The guard hissed. As the other girls flinched back, trembling, Azry wanted desperately to rip him off Noma, wanted to grab his sword and run his through. Every choke of breath Noma tried to take made Azry fight through her dizziness, and finally make a step on her own, letting Shianni go, but it was too late.  
The guard pulled Noma back from the wall, and then slammed her back into it. The sickening crack echoed around the room.  
The guard stepped back, letting Noma's body fall at his feet, her eyes still wide with fear, her mouth forever paused mid scream. Blood pooled from her head, and the colour was as deep and rich as Azry's mother's had been when the soldier had pulled his blade from her. 

“Whoops,” the guard said, laughing, as he shrugged at the others.

Azry did not know the scream came from her until her throat was hoarse and she was punching the man, who had foolishly taken his helmet off. Azry punched again and again until two other guards dragged her away pinning against the wall.  
Her rage filled her to bursting, so much that she could not hold it in, her scream tore itself from her lungs even when the guards covered her mouth and smacked her, trying to shut her up. The guard she had attacked limped back to his group, blood pouring from his nose. Had Azry really only broken his nose? She had wanted to hear all of his bones snap, wanted to see the light go out of his eyes, and there he was, getting away while Noma's body grew cold just there, oh god, she was so young and she died in fear and begging the Maker to save her-

“You two, hold her down while we take the others, but don't kill her. Master Uriel wants her especially,” the captain ordered, and Azry was dragged to her knees, held down by the two guards.  
She had to watch while the other girls, the beggar's daughter and Shianni be pulled apart from each other and grabbed, marched out of the room. Shianni was telling them to be calm, that it would all be fine even as her voice shook with fear.  
Azry, how she cursed herself, cursed her weak body for not shrugging off the bruise to her head, cursed Vaughn and everyone who followed them, as she lay on the floor, struggling with all her might as she screamed for the guards to let the girls go, let her go, threatened to kill them. Soon the only sound in the room was her screaming, rage and horror and desperation rife in the sound. The two guards tried to quieten her by stuffing a glove in her mouth, but she bit their hands and wriggled all the fiercer.

It was only when one of them kicked her in the head but she stopped, her head swirling, the world spinning and turning into a haze of throbbing pain and red blood, the taste of copper in her mouth and the knowledge that those two guards left the room and she didn't kill them making her sick to her stomach. She didn't let herself cry once the dizziness receded. She didn't let herself think anything but killing every guard in the house, murdering her way right up to Vaughn. Those thoughts stopped her from looking at Noma's body, stopped her from vomiting and giving into the sadness that was threatening every nerve of Azry's being.

Pressing her hand to her mouth, trying to soften the sobs of breath she took to steady herself, Azry eased her way back into standing up, clutching the wall with her free hand. She could see the glimmer of red in her peripheral vision and told herself that it was just her vision playing tricks on her, that it was her inability to see out of her left eye, anything that would trick herself and stop her stomach rolling.

The door was still open, the guards most likely underestimating just how much adrenaline revenge can flow through a person. Azry could see the pommel of a sword pointing her way, and she moved forward, planning how to grab it and quickly dispatch both of the guards, ripping the long dress along her leg in preparation (her wedding dress was stained a little with her blood, and Azry considered the metaphor fitting), when into the room beyond walked Soris.

“Um...hello?” He said, and Azry was so shocked by his appearance that she actually stopped moving all together to stare at him. How the hell did he get in here? She wondered to herself for the split second before she noticed the sweeping motion Soris made across his waist, intent clear in his eyes. This made her go for the belt she still wore, and the dagger that was concealed within.  
Hope and determination flooded through Azry, as well as the pleasure of knowing that the idiots had thought that she would not wear a weapon with her wedding finery.  
The guards were yelling at Soris, something Azry didn't bother hearing as she drew the dagger, and walking silently up behind them. 

Once she was behind one, she tapped him on the shoulder and he turned. Azry sunk the dagger deep into his eye, and the shock evident on his expression and the blood that spurted out, splashing her face and neck, were like a balm. He fell backwards, and Azry drew his sword from its scabbard as he did, turning to face the other guard, who was shouting for help even as he drew his own weapon. Azry never gave him a chance to get past the first words, using all of her strength to knock him down, and drive the sword deep into his neck. She listened to him choke on his own blood for a moment, before pulling the sword from him. 

For a moment she simply breathed, her body recovering a little, before she set about stripping the guard of his armour. She managed to wrangle his pauldrons off when Soris's face appeared in her peripheral. Azry jumped, she'd forgotten he was there, and then threw her arms around him, her emotions overwhelming her. His arms wound around her, gripping her as tightly as she held him, and Azry could pretend for a moment that he was the one crying.  
She sobbed into his shoulder while he gripped her tightly, murmuring softly, trying to comfort her while she babbled, trying to explain where the others were, why Noma was lying in the room behind them, robbed of everything she could've been-

“I have to kill them, I have to get them all for doing this,” Azry said, her voice steadying as she calmed herself. She pulled away from Soris, but kept her arms on him. His face was a little worried, but for the most part he looked grimly determined, and for that she was grateful. If Soris had broken down she knew there was no chance that she would've been able to keep herself calm.

“We have to get the other girls and get out first. If we encounter anyone, sure, you can...do whatever, but we can't let anything happen to Shianni. To any of them,” Soris said, and Azry held her tongue, not letting her anger spill onto Soris not being as bloodthirsty as she was. She understood his caution. Both their mothers were dead for the same reason, but where Azry had found a reason for revenge and hatred, Soris had found caution. In another time she might've wished for just a bit of his patience and caution, but now she wiped her eyes and let go of her cousin, finishing pulling armor of the guard who's head shed nearly severed.

With Soris' help, she managed to get a breastplate fastened over her chest, and pauldrons to cover her shoulders. To Soris's legs she fastened greaves, much to his displeasure.  
“You can't fight like me, Soris,” Azry explained, lifting a shield from the wall. Testing the weight, she found it acceptably light. She helped Soris to slip it onto his left arm and showed him how to cover himself with it. “You have a shield and your legs are protected enough. Just keep your head down and follow my lead,” She finished, strapping on an extra sword. Soris nodded, shoving a helmet onto his head. Azry did the same, and yanked her dagger out of the other guard's skull. She ignored the swirls of dizziness that were filling her head, focusing instead on the fierce anger that kept her clear. 

“Nelaros is down the end of the hall, he's keeping watch. He had a friend that knew a back way or something,” Soris said, while Azry cleaned off the worst mess from the dagger and sword, though she did turn to stare at her cousin incredulously.  
“Nelaros is here?” She asked, scarcely able to believe her friend, who had so often chided her for getting into brawls, had snuck into one of the most heavily guarded places in Denerim to rescue her. Azry told herself that if they both made it out she would break the marriage off immediately, no matter how carefully arranged it had been. He deserved better than she could ever give him.

After checking the hall way was clear, Azry motioned to Soris and they moved as quickly and quietly as they could down the hall. It was a struggle for Azry not to go after every armored man in the building, but she had to get Soris and Nelaros out, no matter how her blood burned, and she knew that with half her world blurry thanks to her black eye, she would not be able to protect Soris as well as fight.  
Even though inside her head echoed the sound of Noma's head hitting the wall , Azry moved determinedly forward, with Soris urging her on from behind his shield.

They reached the end of the hall, and at the door Soris tested the knob, only to find it locked. He gave Azry a helpless look, but she shrugged it off, and took her helmet off. Part of her flower crown was still attached to her head, and holding the flowers to her hair were long, thin pins. Just the kind she needed for lock picking. As she pulled one out, a tumble of roses fell from her hair, shattering as they hit the ground. Azry ignored the way her throat tightened seeing it, and worked on the lock. The click as the lock released did much to urge her on, and she quickly thrust the pin back in her hair, replacing her helmet and picking up her sword and dagger again. Soris swung the door open, but his face immediately dropped from determined to horror-struck. Azry stepped around the door, immediately expecting the worst to have happened, that maybe Shianni lay there like Noma. She was not prepared for Nelaros to be standing, facing her, flanked by guards.

She felt a piece of her soul rip away from her as her eyes met Nelaros's and his softened, looking so full of love that Azry's chest ached, in the exact area that a sword had been pushed through him.

When the sword finally withdrew from Nelaros's body, blood spilled from his heart and draining the life from those eyes that had been full of every emotion Azry had ever named. Eyes that had watched her, made her feel safe no matter what.

His body hit the floor, and Azry was already half way across the room, slicing the knees of the first guard, bringing him down to finish off with her dagger. She dodged the next blow with practiced ease, the guard swinging far too wide, leaving his unprotected underarm exposed. She drove her dagger in there, and when he screamed in pain, she used the sound to guide her to his head rather than trust her tear-blurred and half blackened vision. Her sword sliced along his neck, blood spilling across his armor and staining the sleeve of her white dress further. The last guard roared for help, but his open mouth was an invitation. Azry spun once to avoid his jab, then drove her sword so deep into his mouth, that she felt the impact as it severed his spine then the muscle of his neck and pinged the inside of his full helmet.

His body fell, and Azry let her sword go with him. She could not turn, she could accept the tears that were welling in her, could not acknowledge the grief. She could hear Soris begging him to get up, trying to hold the wound closed. She could feel every one of his emotion as one of her own. 

“Azry! Help me!” Soris moaned, and Azry let one sob shake her shoulders.

“We've got to get out of here,” she said quietly, and could not be ashamed of how broken her voice sounded. Her best friend lay on that floor, the second time she had been too slow, not strong enough to save someone. She did not want to see his body and have that image in her mind. Even now the urge to vomit was nearly overwhelming, as was the need to scream, cry, beg every god there was, even the Maker, to bring him back, to make it not so. 

Azry drew her spare sword with her right hand, gripping it firmly and making sure she had the right hold on her dagger. She refused to believe that there were tears trickling down her cheeks. If she was still alive after this, she promised herself, she would grieve as loudly as was needed.

Soris joined her, tears staining his face as well, and thankfully did not say anything to her. He did not give her a pitying look, did not try and comfort her. He simply hefted his shield back onto his arm. Azry regretted every moment she believed her cousin weak. 

They left the room, heading for the living quarters, leaving Nelaros's body surrounded by corpses of the three guards. Let them believe he died fighting, thought Azry. Her husband deserved nothing less.

\-----

An elven kitchen servant had helped them get to Vaughn's quarters, and in return Azry had picked the thick metal ring around his leg. She would've done it anyway, but the boy had refused to let her until she and Soris were delivered to the door. Enslaved elves were honorable like that. They avoided the rest of the household guards, which made it faster, but it did little to quell the fury that was building in Azry to drown out the horror and devastation that had threatened to overwhelm her. 

As the ring fell off the boy's leg, he was already slipping away from the cousins, trying to get out before he was caught. Soris looked at Azry once the boy was gone, and his eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with tears. Azry knew she looked much worse, with her beaten face and bloodstained clothing, but even so she knew she fared better. Her mother had taught her how to shut out emotion to keep her head clear, and now that the dizziness had receded enough for her to concentrate, Azry could block out everything but the drive to kill Vaughn.  
She gripped Soris's arm once, trying to comfort him a little, and he nodded. He adjusted the shield to cover his body, waiting on Azry. She replaced the pin in her hair, trying not to feel the loss of more flowers from her crown, and pulled the helmet back on her head. 

They were in a corridor with three different doors, all part of Vaughn's quarters, but the boy had said that the one in the middle was where the girls were being taken. Trying the door knob, Azry could feel it was unlocked. She could hear muffled screaming coming from behind it, and quickly looked to Soris. His face was pale and horrified, proving that she hadn't misheard. The familiar boil of her blood returned, and she threw the door open, hearing the grunt as it hit a guard. She took advantage of the surprise, slaying the first one with a slash to his neck, and before the other recovered, she threw her dagger, and while it wasn't as well balanced as a throwing knife, it still sank into the guard's cheek. He barely had time to scream before Azry thrust her sword through his neck. She didn't wait for him to fall before she retrieved her dagger and crossed the antechamber to the inner door. The screaming had fallen silent, but Azry could hear soft, broken sobs that made her have to concentrate even harder on suppressing her fear.

The door was locked, and Azry looked back at Soris, who made quick work of searching the guard's bodies. He came up empty handed, and Azry gestured for him to come up close behind her. She tried to pick it, but couldn't feel any give, and her pin broke when she tried to force it.  
“What now?” Soris whispered, helping Azry stand again. She stared at the door for a moment before gesturing for him to move back.  
First she thrust her dagger behind the metal doorknob and lock, deep into the wood of the door. She could hear the lock groan, and one of the men within wonder aloud what the noise was.  
She then sank into the proper stance her mother had taught her, before she kicked the door. 

“What the hell was that?!” Vaughn's voice called from beyond, and that made Azry's next kick more savage than the first. The door did not break, but she could feel the give. Stretching her leg out one more time, she took a step closer, gathered up all her strength, and kicked at the door.  
The wood splintered, cracked and finally fell apart as her powerful kick took advantage of the weakened lock. The door slammed onto the ground, revealing Vaughn.

He was holding a glass of wine, and his pants were drawn loosely, as if he had only just replaced them. His face was shocked and terrified, something that made Azry all the more pleased that she was going to kill him.

The clearness of her mind was clouded when she stepped into the room and saw Shianni on the bed, the bedspread underneath her dark with her blood. Her face was pale with terror, but slack as she sobbed. Her face and neck were purpling with bruises and her dress was torn around her waist and chest.

A man knelt over her, his face shocked with Azry and Soris' sudden arrival, one hand forcing Shianni's legs apart, the other on his groin.

Pure, unadulterated rage exploded into Azry's veins, flowing past her careful barriers of concentration and breaking down any barriers of pain. Any chance, however slight, these men had of living was now gone.

“Get away from her!” Azry screamed at the man, and he scrambled off Shianni, who curled into a ball, protecting herself. Soris ran to his sister, and Azry turned her full attention to the men, knowing Shianni was in safe hands. There was one other man in the room, heavily armed and muscled, and Vaughn was cowering behind him, not allowing the other man any form of protection from her. Since he was the man she caught holding Shianni down, Azry let every trickle of rage fill her, let it blind her to mercy and reached for him. He screamed for help. For the guards. For Vaughn, who did nothing.  
Azry held him against a wall as he feebly tried to fight her off. She laughed, and drove her sword into his cock. He howled and gasped and screamed and every sound justified his slow death. Azry drank in his pain and then adjusted her grip on her sword.

“Let's see what you're made of,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing, and she yanked the sword up, carving her way from his skewered member all the way to his chest. His guts spilled out, splattering with dull thuds against Azry's legs and the floor. She relished in the letting of his blood, and the feel of his warm life leaving him to stain her dress was the best form of vengeance she could think of. He was dead as soon as the sword cut open his chest, his screaming suddenly becoming silent. Azry stood aside to let his body drop, it landed on his organs with dull squishing sounds. The bodyguard's face had dropped, and his face had turned white from viewing her savagery, which made Azry grin, though she felt no real joy, only the rage that fueled her every action.

Azry growled as he drew his weapons and stepped towards her, lowering her stance in readiness for his attack. His brandished his long sword at her, and Azry could see the slight tremors along its length. She would've laughed and mocked him for being so frightened of her, when an arrow flew from behind Azry and buried itself so deeply into the man's eye that he only had time to open his mouth in shock before he dropped to the ground. Ignoring Vaughn for a moment, she spun to see where the arrow had come from, and standing in the doorway was the Dalish elf that had come with the Grey Warden. In her hands was her beautiful bow, another arrow already drawn and aiming at Vaughn.

“Wait!” Azry cried, and the girl looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “That one's mine,” Azry said, her tone steely. The Dalish girl nodded. “Can you get them out? I'm not sure where the others are,” Azry said, motioning to her cousins. Soris was gripping Shianni to him, and Shianni herself seemed to have given into her exhaustion. The Dalish girl walked to them, slotting her bow over her back and lifted Shianni into her arms. Soris supported his sister's head until it rested on her shoulder. As they left, the Dalish girl looked over her shoulder, her eyes boring into Azry. In her, Azry could feel a kindred spirit, someone honed by tragedy. 

“I will get the others to safety. Kill him,” the Dalish said, surprisingly unemotional. She left the way she came, cradling Shianni, and Soris nodded solemnly at Azry before following her out. Azry turned her attention back to a whimpering Vaughn.

Every time a noble had spat on her, talked down at her, every time one ignored her or laughed or said anything to her that made her feel small, Azry would pretend that she could take her mother's dagger and split open their neck, pick out their vocal chords and shred every muscle she could reach. 

And now, in front of her, lay the noble who had destroyed the peace of her home, who had stolen her sisters and had robbed them of their innocence. He was the reason Noma was dead, the reason that Nelaros would never have someone love him as much as he could love them. Vaughn was the reason why when Azry was done here, she would most likely have to leave Denerim forever, or be killed like her mother. 

And for that, she would destroy him. Every inch of him would feel the sting of her knife. 

First, she pushed him down, ignoring every plea for his life, every promise of more coin than she'd ever seen, every noise of terror, and tore open his doublet. As he begin to scream incoherently, she dug just the tip of her dagger into his belly, and lightly dragged it up to his neck, a thin line of blood bubbling to the surface. She made a second incision across his chest, the lines crossing over his sternum. Vaughn was still screaming, still struggling, but it was like any distraction was in the far distance for all the difference it made to Azry. She was empty of all emotion and concentrated on what she was doing as if it was the most important work she would ever do. 

“Now. I'm going to crack the bone here, Vaughn, and if you don't hold still, I'll probably kill you instantly, and we don't want that,” Azry said, picking up her sword and holding it with the point facing up, the pommel resting on the cross she'd made. Vaughn looked at her, confusion flickering across his terror-stricken expression, and in the brief moment of stillness, Azry brought the pommel of the sword down just hard enough to break his skin and crack his rib cage. The scream of pain was like a tonic to Azry, and she soaked up every syllable of it, letting it soothe her fury that hovered beneath her calm. Once Vaughn's voice gave out and he was breathing hoarsely, blood trickling from his chest and around his broken bones, Azry leant forward, placing her dagger tip on his throat. He stopped breathing, stopped any noise and his eyes met Azry's. She was unmoved by the pleading in them, unmoved to any expression he could ever make. The memory of his boot on her neck, the words he said, the cruel laughing and the casual way he ruined the lives of every elf girl he'd taken today.

“Did Shianni say anything before you raped her? Did she beg for you to stop? Did she threaten, or plead?” Azry murmured, bending down so that her mouth was right by his ear. 

“...she...she did,” came Vaughn's barely audible reply. Azry's smile had violence written across it. She slipped the dagger under his skin, pressing in harder when he screamed. 

“Tell me what she said,” Azry murmured, guiding her dagger between muscle and skin. Vaughn's screaming turned to panting and howling, and she smacked him across the face. “Tell me what she said!” Azry repeated, shouting into his face.

“Stop! She was screaming stop, please, please,” Vaughn gasped, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Is that all?! What else did she say?!” Azry hissed, driving her dagger hard enough that it broke into the muscle of his chest. Vaughn's words were nearly lost in his howls and gasped begging. 

“My...my family will kill you. She said...that her family would kill me,” Vaughn said. Azry stared at him, stared right through his terror filled eyes, right to the sick bastard within. She could picture Shianni beneath him, spitting her venom and being laughed at. She could see him hold her down, rip her dress, bruise her thighs and laughing all the time, laughing as he choked her, kicked her, spread her thighs-

“She was right. Her family will kill you,” Azry whispered, pulling the dagger from his skin. Vaughn took a breath of relief, his sobs subsiding slightly. “Her family will kill you,” Azry said one more time. She cleaned his blood from the dagger as he took shaky breaths in. He turned his head, looking as if he was going to talk, but Azry never gave him the chance. 

She had aimed her dagger carefully, and now she plunged it deep into his chest, piercing his heart precisely. The light behind Vaughn's eyes flared brilliantly once, and went out with a rush of his breath. He slumped beneath her, mouth open in shock. It would never leave his face, and for that Azry was so pleased. Shakily, she pulled the knife out, wiped it on his breeches and replaced it in her belt pouch. She would polish it properly when she got the chance. 

She stood, and noticed a still-lit torch mounted on the wall. After a moment of consideration, Azry grabbed it and threw it on the ornate four poster. She left the room, the smell of smoke and burning cloth on her nostrils, and the memory of Vaughn's life slipping away beneath her. 

It seemed that the way had been cleared for her by the Dalish girl, judging from the arrows sticking out from the corpses that littered the halls, so Azry made her way quickly through the castle, while adrenaline still kept her alert. She could feel pain returning to her skull, and her vision was beginning to tilt. She had ignored the true extent of her injuries and it was coming back to haunt her. Still she pushed on, determined to get out before either she was found or the place burnt down. At least Vaughn would never have a proper burial. 

Shouts began to sound from the floors above her, and Azry began to run tying what remained of her dress into her belt to free her feet from the hem. She stole through the kitchen, ignoring the yelps of the cooks and the panicked stares of the elven servants and burst out through the door. She should've knocked out the humans, they knew what she looked like. They'd know which elf she was. They'd find her, and most likely kill her. Damn it, she thought. She refused to think about her father and her cousins, what would happen to them if she was gone. At least she could protect them from being implicated. 

Azry stole through back ways and alleys of Denerim, avoiding main streets until she had to cross the bridge into the Alienage. She took a few deep breaths, willed her head to keep clear for just a few minutes more, and stepped out from the shadows. She walked sedately through the street, trying to be less conspicuous than she knew she was, with her blood-stained gown and mismatched armour, but it was to no avail. All it took was one human screaming in horror at her appearance for the guardsmen to see her and at their shouts, Azry took off at a run, sprinting for the Alienage entrance. She could hear the thudding of boots and clanging of armour behind her, but thankfully theirs was much heavier than hers and she was much faster. She reached the Alienage well before them, and kept running through, heading straight for her house. She could hide in the basement, or the alcove behind her bed, there was a wooden slat she could place over it to make it a hiding place. She would have to make sure Soris and her father were not blamed, but she could sort that out once the guard were not right behind her-

The thoughts whirling around her head has distracted her enough that she ran straight into someone, someone wearing thick armour. 

“Are you all right, Miss Tabris?” Said a man's voice, and while it sounded familiar, this new blow to the head set Azry reeling worse than before, and she dropped onto her knees, barely able to stay conscious. Blurrily, she could make out bright blue fabric underneath the armour, and an emblem that looked something winged. The Grey Warden, Azry thought blearily. 

“Azry! Is she all right? Duncan, what's going on?” Said another voice, this one Azry could recognise as her father. She could feel hands on her shoulders, her back and a careful one on her face. It almost felt like an out-of-body experience and blearily Azry wondered if this is what mages felt like. She knew she was in pain and yet she couldn't quite feel it. Oh god, her head was really, really damaged if that was the case. 

“She's taken a few bad blows to her head. That black eye is nasty. Is that the city guard coming this way?” Duncan's voice said, and the hand that had been examining her face was taken away and Azry could hear rustling, and smell something very pungent. Her vision had all but blurred completely. The world was rather pretty when all the colours were smudged. 

“I'll try and head them off,” said her father. Panic immediately rose in Azry at the thought of her father being forced down like Nela was.

“No,” she croaked, but could say nothing else as a potion slipped down her throat, tasting like charcoal and grass. “ERCH,” Azry coughed, trying to clear the stuff from her throat. She was surprised to note that her vision swam back into focus and her dizziness receded enough that with Duncan and her father's help, she could stand. 

“That potion should tide you over until we can get you out,” Duncan explained, his tone reassuring but his words arose slight panic in Azry. Why would Duncan want to get her out?

Anything she could say in reply was cut off by the arrival of the guard. The captain pushed his way to the front, a scowl deepest on his face. His eyes looked tired, even a little sympathetic as he regarded Azry, who still leaned heavily on her father. Cyrion tightened his arms around his daughter, and Azry held back every emotion that bubbled up in her. She remembered stories her mother told her, when the Grey Wardens tried to recruit her, stopping just short of using the Rite of Conscription. Her mother had been saved from that because there was no urgent need. If Duncan used it to save Azry, she'd have to leave the Alienage. She might never return. 

And if Duncan didn't, Vaughn's father would see her dead. Either way Azry might never see her father again. 

“I guess there's no need to ask where she's run from. They've only just managed to bring the blaze under control,” the captain said, his eyes on Azry's battered face. “I'll need you to hand her over, sir. And any of her accomplices. They've committed treason and murder.”

“You can't have her!” Yelled someone behind them, and Azry's heart broke when she recognised Soris' voice. The captain's face grew stern. 

“Were you a part of the raid on the estate?” He asked, and Azry pushed her way in front of the captain. 

“He wasn't. It was just me. There was no one else,” she said firmly. The captain raised a single skeptical eyebrow. Azry's hand itched to pull her dagger out again. 

“One girl murdered the entire second floor of the Arl's estate?” He said, his voice serious but his eyes full of pity. Azry hated him for it. 

“Yes, and no matter what the red haired boy says, he had nothing to do with it,” Azry said firmly, cutting Soris's attempt at replying off. She could not see his face but she knew that he was crying. She could hear each tear in his voice and it killed her. The captain sighed, one gloved hand on his brow. 

“You've done a very brave thing covering up for them. I'm sorry that it will be the last brave thing you do,” the captain said solemnly, and Azry's knees nearly buckled beneath her. Her father tugged her back into his arms, holding her against him tightly. She could hear shouts, screams, all defending her, all surging forward to protect her.

She had never felt so proud of her Alienage.

“If I may, captain,” came Duncan's calm voice, somehow cutting through the outraged elves. Azry turned her head from Cyrion's embrace, staring at the Warden incredulously. 

“Warden, this is a city matter. The Arl will deal with her when he returns-” 

“I can deal with her now. I invoke the Rite of Conscription. I need new Wardens and her fighting skills her clearly up to the standard I need,” Duncan said firmly, and Azry gasped, part relief and part horror. 

“You would take a murderer for a Warden?” The captain asked, his confusion apparent. 

“Better a murderous Warden then a spoiled rapist for a future Arl, don't you think?” Duncan smoothly replied. There were cheers from the elves at his remark, and Azry's mouth dropped open, hope swelling her chest. The captain's face had paled, and he shook his head. He gave one last look at Azry, still cradled in her father's arms and sighed. 

“Take her. Get her out of Denerim soon, or the people will tear her apart,” he said, before turning and leading his guards out of the Alienage, the jeers and taunts of elves following them. Azry couldn't do much more than clutch at her father, the threat of death no longer hanging over her head, the new one of exile filling her with dread. 

“They can't actually force me to go,” Azry said, her voice thick and shaking. Cyrion did not reply, only hug her tighter, and that gave Azry the answer she already knew. She would have to leave her home and join the Wardens, never again to escape the heat in her basement, or tease the drunks or Soris-

“Come, we'll gather what she needs and then we'll leave. We can be out of Denerim and well away before sundown,” Duncan was saying somewhere next to her, but Azry pretended for a moment that he was congratulating her on her wedding, that Nela was waiting just behind him to escort her home, that Shianni-

Shianni. 

Azry suddenly pulled away from her father, and immediately sought out Soris. He tried to say something, probably something about her not needing to defend him but she cut him off.

“Shianni?” She asked, no longer caring that her voice sounded so despairing. Soris swallowed, and Azry could see fresh tears building in his eyes. 

“She...she won't even look up. She hasn't stopped crying, and we haven't even got to a doctor yet,” Soris said, sounding so hopeless and so lost that Azry could barely contain her own sorrow. She pulled him to her, hugging him tightly. She tried to pour all her love into their embrace, and Soris responded, his hand fisting next to her neck as he sobbed openly. 

“She'll come back. She will. You tell her that he died begging for his life. That I made him suffer,” Azry whispered to Soris, and when they parted his face was hard and his eyes glinted. 

“Good,” he replied. 

“Azry-” said Duncan, and for some reason, so much hatred boiled up in Azry when her name fell so causally from Duncan's mouth. She could not bear anyone else but her family saying her name anymore. She would not. She would not join the Wardens as who she was this morning. She could not be Azry the Warden. 

“Adaia, Duncan. You wanted a Warden. Azry is not a Warden,” she said, filling her voice with steel while tears still streaked her face. Duncan nodded seriously, and she was glad that he was intelligent enough to understand why this was so. He went to speak once more, when the clatter of hooves sounded, and he turned to look past the crowd of elves still watching the scene, and emerged the Dalish girl, leading a horse. Azry did not have time to question aloud why she did not just ride the animal in question, before Duncan had grabbed her gently, and pulled her towards them. Azry flung her hand out behind her, and her father took it, jogging to keep up with them. 

“Anwen, you need to get Adaia out as quickly as possible. I won't ask it of you again, I swear it,” Duncan said, and the Dalish girl's eyes widened. She shook her head emphatically, glaring at him. Duncan said nothing, and eventually the girl, Anwen, sighed and turned her glare on Azry. Azry looked back at her father, and his face was stricken with terror and devastating sorrow, and Azry nearly ran back into his arms.

“Apologies,” Duncan said before suddenly he lifted Azry up onto the horse. She was shocked that someone had lifted her so easily that she was nearly filled with rage again, but her father linked his hand with hers again, and her breath was shortened with her sobs and she couldn't find the words to say goodbye. Cyrion was equally as lost, and Azry didn't know what would make this any better. It would never be the same to Cyrion, he'd lost too much and Azry could barely stand the loss of what her life could have been, let alone the thought that her father would be in that house all alone. Would he leave the dried flowers up? Would he ever go into the basement looking for her?

Soris grabbed her other hand, tucking something small and cold into it as Anwen mounted the steed in front of her, motioning for Azry to grab into her waist. Azry opened her palm and saw that Soris had placed a gold ring in it, a tree pattern stamped on the inside. Her wedding ring. She stared at Soris, unable to say her thanks with him looking so lost, and reached out to stroke his chin with her fist-

“We have to go now,” Anwen said, her voice as monotone as ever. She dug her heels lightly into the beast's sides and it leapt forward, Azry's hand slipping from her father's. She clung to the Dalish girl, keeping a tight hold on her wedding ring. 

When she looked back, the Alienage was shrinking behind behind her, but she could still see Soris, his hand stretched out as if he could still touch her, and her father had sunk to his knees. 

Azry pretended it was the wind in her eyes that made her cry harder.


	4. High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying awake  
> The colours all fade  
> From the tears on my face  
> I've let you slip away  
> I can kiss whoever, I'm wearing the crown  
> Time to get out my love don’t want you cause now  
> I'm high and rising  
> Alive now, I'm fine cause I let you go
> 
>  
> 
> \--High, Peking Duk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By every god ever, this was hard to write. I ended up writing too much, and have now split the original chapter a bit, so the next one should be out sooner than this one was. I don't know how well I've edited it, so if you spot any spelling or grammar issues, please let me know!  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos, my one constant commentator Vicki Mull and anyone who's read my ridiculous thing over the last couple of months. It's really kept me thinking about it!
> 
> My tumblr is babsbatgirl.tumblr.com, and if you'd like to see anything that I post regarding this, check the tags 'jess is an asshat' or 'fic: run like hell'. Thank you!

Azry did not remember falling unconscious. When she awoke, night had nearly fallen, the last strip of sun falling behind the horizon with a brilliant stripe of orange, and she was tied to the Dalish girl. Anwen, she reminded herself. Blearily, Azry noticed they were slowing down, and that every movement of the horse made her head hurt as if there were rocks jangling around inside her skull. She groaned loudly, the noise startling herself, and cradled her forehead in her hands. 

“You're awake,” Anwen said, her voice monotone, though maybe with a hint of distaste. Azry groaned again in response, and Anwen thankfully brought the horse to a stop. She had looped the reins, it seemed, to hold Azry in place behind her and still keep control of the horse. She loosened them, and Azry lifted them over her head, groaning as the motion hurt every muscle in her arms. They felt sore from overuse, her back felt thoroughly bruised and her face was tight and stiff from the cold and from its repeated beatings. All in all, she must look a sorry picture. 

But she was alive. She'd barely dared hope that she would get out alive and free, yet here she was. Azry watched as Anwen slid off the horse with a look of disgust on her face. Well, Azry reminded herself. Almost free. She didn't doubt that she could find a way to double back to Denerim before the Grey Wardens managed to get her too far. She started doubting that when she attempted to slide off the horse as gracefully as Anwen and her whole world spun dizzily and a fresh throb began in her brain. 

“Stay on the horse,” Anwen said shortly, her face still twisted with her distaste. Azry guessed that she might not be the biggest fan of horses, the way she was giving it the evil eye. 

“You don't like horses?” Azry asked, and Anwen simply glared at her. Azry held up her hands in defeat, not sure what she'd done to receive such hostility, but not wanting to push the Dalish girl any further. Apparently, their relationship was already in tatters. Anwen looped her hand into the horse's bridle, and with a tug, the horse began following after her. Azry's stomach lurched with the movement, and she swallowed back bile. Oddly, the thought came to her that she hadn't eaten since that morning, not that she was even a little bit hungry. Thankfully, Anwen was taking it slowly, though Azry doubted it was for her benefit. She lay on the horse's neck as well as she could, the armour she still wore digging into her neck and her waist. She would've not bothered if it weren't for her churning stomach. She'd been beaten before, but never so much that she felt ill. At least she could take comfort in the fact that the man responsible was dead by her own hand. 

She didn't let herself think too much more about the real reason he was dead. She could wait until a quieter moment. When she was alone and not plotting her eventual desertion of the Grey Wardens. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful to Duncan for saving her life, she just could not abandon her family after...after that. She couldn't even bear to think of her cousins' name, just the thought of it made her stomach roll and her throat tighten, ready for more tears. Azry honestly did not think she had enough energy left in her to cry, let alone the water required. 

It took a few more hours of Azry slipping in and out of consciousness before Anwen brought the horse to a slow stop on the outskirts of a village. Azry lifted her head sleepily, her blurry half-vision focusing enough that she could see Anwen tying the horse to a post outside of an inn. Azry noticed then that the sky was losing that last stripe of colour, the streaks of sunset swallowed by the dark and the stars. She wondered how long they had been travelling; the wedding had taken place in the middle of the day. Anwen met Azry's eyes and nodded her head towards the inn, and motioned for her to follow as she turned towards it. Azry let out a long sigh as she contemplated how to get off the horse without hurting herself further. Eventually Azry settled for sliding off one side of the horse as slowly as she could, wincing as her head throbbed with every movement. She felt her knees wobble as she tried to put her weight on them, and felt a flush of embarrassment as she struggled to stand without gripping onto the horse's saddle. Once she felt a little surer on her feet, she shuffled slowly to the inn entrance. Anwen was leaning against the entrance, frowning at Azry's slow approach. Azry couldn't help but feel annoyed that the girl wasn't even being patient, let alone not even trying to help. She kept quiet though, wanting to try somehow to redeem herself in the Dalish girl's eyes. 

Anwen pushed the door open, and surprisingly, held out a hand to Azry. Azry stared dumbly at the offered hand long enough that Anwen sighed heavily and looped her arm under Azry's shoulders, making it significantly easier for Azry to walk. Azry was so shocked by the sudden kindness that she barely noticed Anwen half-carrying her through the threshold and into the inn itself. A few of the patrons looked up as the two elven girls walked in, and Azry could see enough to know that they were clearly not welcome. One of the barmaids looked at Azry with widened, horrified eyes and her skin was so pale it looked as if she had never had colour in it. This was when Azry remembered that she was still in her blood-covered wedding dress and mismatched armour, and that half of her face was heavily bruised. She didn't bother to try and reassure anyone, her appearance had done enough to damage their perception of her. She just stayed close to Anwen and kept her eyes firmly forward. She was not sorry for what she had done, and these humans would've judged her no matter what she was dressed like. Elves were not considered same way as humans, to these people Anwen and Azry were bits of slime that had crawled up to antagonise them. Azry could feel herself bristling with anger the more stares they got. Part of her understood that she looked an utter mess, but she could not help but feel that if she was a human, there would be at least one person that offered to help. 

The innkeeper's face was thoroughly unimpressed as he regarded Azry and Anwen approaching the bar. Azry tried to stand a little taller, but all her efforts led to was Anwen having to support her more and judging from the Dalish girl's face, she was incredibly annoyed by it. Azry grabbed hold of the bar and lent on that when she reached it, not wanting to distress the poor girl any further. Whatever Azry had done, it must have been severely insulting to the Dalish people-

She never did say thank you for killing the bodyguard, did she? Or for the clear path out of the Estate. Maybe that's why Anwen was being so standoffish. 

Azry's thoughts were interrupted by the innkeeper's gruff voice. “No elves,” he said, his disgust practically dribbling from his lips as he glared at Anwen. He turned his gaze on Azry then, obviously taking in her more-than-disheveled appearance. Azry couldn't help but feel ashamed, blush burning on her cheeks, mixed in with more than a little anger. “Particularly not ones covered in blood,” he finished, looking at Azry with suspicion. She desperately hoped that news of Vaughn's death had not reached this far yet. She'd rather live a Grey Warden than die at the hands of a mob. 

The sigh that came from Anwen was so loud, Azry thought that a gust had blown up outside. Anwen could not look more put-upon if she tried. Her every movement spoke volumes about how done she was with every person every to interact with her. She began to unbuckle her breastplate, glaring at the innkeeper, who looked rather confused by the proceedings. Azry could not blame him, she didn't see how giving the man armour was going to convince him to let them stay, if that was what Anwen was trying. Azry couldn't think of another reason why, her head was throbbing far too much for her to think clearly. 

Anwen finally dropped the breastplate to her feet, and pulled down the collar of her simple shift, revealing a cluster of black and purple vein-like markings directly over where her heart would be. It took Azry a moment, but she suddenly recognised it for what it was as the innkeeper gasped inwardly. The mark. Every Grey Warden has it, Azry remembered. Whatever they do to make themselves Grey Wardens makes them get those markings, that diseased looking brand that shows them as what they are. 

“...Grey Wardens are of course welcome. You'll have to take a room on the ground floor. All the others are booked,” the innkeeper said as Anwen let her shirt fall back over her marking. He looked even more disgusted, if that was possible, and as Anwen gathered up her shed armour, he rustled around behind the bar, finally coming up with a key. He dropped it into Anwen's open palm, and if Azry had the energy to, she would have laughed at how similarly nauseated they both looked. The innkeeper turned away from them, looking as if he would much rather throw them out than have to give them a room, and Azry felt a mix of righteousness that they got rooms, and yet was also disappointed that it was because Anwen was a Grey Warden, and not because they beat him into submission. 

Not that she was capable of doing anything like that, she reminded herself as her head throbbed mightily. With a groan, she lent her head on her arms. The world needed to stop spinning before she tried to do anything. Anwen, however, was not having that, and she half lifted Azry into her arms and marched her towards the rooms. Azry stumbled along, trying to keep up, but feeling the all-too-familiar fatigue begin to set in. Trying to keep herself awake, she attempted to engage the Dalish girl in conversation.

“So...Anwen-” Azry began, but the girl shot her a furious look that had the rest of her sentence die on her lips.

“Mahariel. Warden Mahariel, Adaia,” the girl said, putting so much sarcasm onto the last word that Azry was surprised that she did not fall over under its weight. For a girl that said things in mostly monotone, the amount of expression in that sentence was nearly overwhelming. Azry was about to reply, to repeat the girl's name back at her when she swooned, what little vision she had left swirling and turning black for a moment. 

“No...no, come on,” Azry groaned, hating that she could feel her body tire so quickly. She'd napped on the horse, hadn't she? Anwen, no, Mahariel, surprisingly, shot her a look that was almost concern. The Dalish girl gently lent Azry against the wall beside their door, and unlocked it. After a quick look inside, Mahariel gathered Azry into her arms again and brought her inside, and deposited her on what felt like a bed, but because there was no light Azry could only guess. It took a few minutes of listening to Mahariel fumble through the darkness for her to find a candle and light it, and by then Azry had to lie down, her entire face beginning to throb with her head. She closed her eyes, even the slight candle light starting to make her head hurt a little more. She felt calloused, cool hands gently touch her swollen eye and beaten cheek, before something even colder and a little slimy was applied to them. Azry was too tired and too sore at this point to even care what it was. It could've been parts of the innkeeper's body for all that she cared.

“Do you need something to help you sleep?” Mahariel's voice said, sounding very clinical. Azry wondered for a moment what it was that Dalish elves were taught in terms of potions and poultices. They'd have to heal themselves after all. 

“No,” Azry yawned in reply, meaning to also thank the girl, but her jaw felt to heavy to get out more than one syllable, and Mahariel struck Azry as a girl of very few words so maybe she'd appreciate the simple answer. There was no reply from the girl, and so Azry took that as a sign that she could slip away into the blackness that was calling her. She willingly succumbed to sleep, hoping that when she woke up, her head would magically be healed, or at least be a little less painful.

The last thing she felt was someone very carefully removing her armour, and, once they lay her back down, pulling something very soft over her.

\--

“...from Ostagar, apparently we'll get there long before the horde. I managed to convince the guard to keep the deaths in Denerim quiet for a week. We'll be back before they find out here what happened,” a deep voice was saying, a very familiar voice. Azry experimentally blinked a couple of times as she slowly stirred, and was pleased to find that her head was not throbbing as much, and while her face felt a little tight, she could see a little more out of her blackened eye. Once she was able to focus, she noticed that the room was filled with morning light, her stolen armour lying in a stack by the door, and Duncan was sitting at the table in the middle of the room, Mahariel standing behind him. Azry was rather confused by their appearances, neither of them were wearing armour, and Mahariel looked incredibly small without it. Azry could see the black lines that marked her face disappeared down her shirt and re-emerged on her arms and feet. The dark cluster that marked her as a Grey Warden was just visible. Despite the dark markings and her general wear and tear, the slight roundness of her face and the lack of aged looking skin made Azry think that Mahariel was young. Incredibly young. She wouldn't have put the Dalish girl at any older than fifteen or sixteen years old.

Duncan noticed Azry straining to sit up and smiled broadly at her. She did not smile back, but nodded at him. 

“It's good to see that you're up. How are you feeling?” he asked her, his tone very polite. Once her feet were on the floor, and she established that the world no longer spun for her, she nodded again. 

“Not as bad as yesterday, thank you,” she said, her tone rather icy, even though her voice croaked slightly. She didn't mean for it to come out so rudely, why was she being so snappish with him? Duncan seemed to take it in his stride and nodded sagely. 

“There's an elfroot potion here for you, and we can order some breakfast if you're hungry,” he said, gesturing at a glass bottle, filled with a green, sluggish looking liquid. Azry grimaced, remembering the taste of the potion he'd poured into her mouth yesterday. There was something else about yesterday that was niggling at the back of her brain, but she ignored it for now, concentrating instead on getting up and walking to the table. Her head still ached, but it was much duller than the previous day, and her knees did not shake as much. She shuffled cautiously over to the table, tuning out whatever Duncan was saying about troops or whatever as he jabbed at a map that took up most of the space on the table. Her hands closed around the bottle and she carefully eased the cork out, noticing the slight tremour in her hands. With one hand she braced herself against the table, and then she drank all of the potion, tilting her head back so that she would have to swallow it. The taste was earthier than the last one, tasting more of dirt than grass, but still with that hint of charcoal and a hint of something sweeter that must come from the root itself. Azry screwed up her face to try and stop herself from spitting it all back out again, reaching her hand out further onto the table to find better purchase. Her hand brushed over something leather, with what felt like broken glass. Bewildered as to why they'd have something like that, Azry swallowed down the rest of the potion quickly, beginning to feel the healing effects already, and looked down at her hand. 

It was her mother's necklace, or what was left of it. The leather was torn and scratched, and every green glass pendant was smashed, only tiny fragments remained, clinging to the leather. Azry could suddenly feel Vaughn's boot on her neck, hear Valora's screams for help and could see Nelaros being forced to his knees. With a gasp, Azry fell to the ground, her breath coming in harsh sobs as her chest constricted and her whole body began to shake. In her hears with the cracking and clinking of the glass pendant, she could taste blood in her mouth, and the fear that had enveloped her came over her in waves. Vaughn, Vaughn, Vaughn, his laugh, his voice, every hated detail bounced around in her skull and made her gasps turn into full fledged whimpers, and she was too far gone inside her head to even care. 

How many elves had died that day? How many people that she had grown up with, had loved, how many of them paid for her escape with their lives? And Soris, he would've defended her actions, her father would've watched helplessly as someone else he loved was lost to him forever and Shianni-

Shianni. 

A hand came to rest gently on Azry's shoulder, and she shook it off, standing quickly and bolting outside, her legs wobbling as she ran and causing her to crash into several people, but she ignored their cries of outrage. She needed to be outside, needed air, needed to clear the haze of blood and death and screams that would not leave her head. She collapsed onto her knees just as she reached a courtyard, and was able to take a few long, deep breaths before she began screaming. 

Outrage, grief and desolation poured out from her in one long, unbroken note and even when her throat became hoarser she could not stop. Tears flowed freely down her face and dripped onto the ground, where her balled fists where banging, as if punching the earth could take back yesterday, take back everything and make it better. Maker, there had to be a way, had to be some way to reverse time and stop everything that happened yesterday. Please, please let there be a way, she begged.

It wasn't until Duncan softly replied to that that Azry realised that she had been begging out loud. 

“I'm so sorry, for your losses and for what I had to do,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of her. She was still used to seeing people as blurred figures, but not from tears. She did not say anything in reply to him, as she could not even form the words in her throat, could not even think of anything to say. Her sobs were already sounding desperately hoarse. She dropped her head lower, not wanting to look him in the eye. 

“Is there...is there any way I could not become a Grey Warden? That I could just go home?” She asked, already knowing the answer and swallowing back any hope that her life could be destined for more than just the darkspawn. More than endless pain that she knew they felt. More than missing her family, who had already lost too many people, who had experienced so much grief only to have more given in return. Silence stretched between Azry and the older man, heavy with every word he did not have to say. 

Azry let out one more long scream, forcing out every syllable of sharp pain and dull throbs, every drop of horror and fear and grief into the sound. She let it be her catharsis, let it heal her just enough that she could go on. When the sound finally ended, she let the silence echo around them, stealing the last moments. The wind began to pick up and whistle through the leaves of the courtyard's garden. She pretended that it was the last remnants of her scream. Azry took in three deep breaths, and once her body had relaxed out of the tense ball she had curled into, she stood. She did not let herself shake or stumble as she did so, she refused to have her new life start off weak. She'd be strong, even if she had to lie to herself. When she lifted her head, Duncan's eyes were full of sympathy, but something in his expression was admiring, as if he could see her very thought process. 

She let her eyes meet his, and knew that she would let herself lie about the strength of her emotions, but never to other people. She would not lie in her expression and show Duncan that she trusted him. He may have saved her life, but he stole it as well, and she could not forgive him for that. Duncan wisely did not question her straight-faced silence, and motioned for her to follow him back inside. Azry brushed the tears from her face, wincing a little as the pressure on her bruised face made the muscles throb, and followed Duncan back into the inn.

There may be other times for her to grieve quietly, but now Azry had to accept that returning home meant death for her, and the Grey Wardens may just mean new life. 

\--

Duncan had either found or bought Azry some trousers and a tunic, and while she was grateful that she could finally get out of her blood-and-memory drenched wedding dress, she was annoyed that he'd got her a human woman's size. After seeing how loose the clothes were on her, he explained, a little sheepish, that he'd tried to get the smallest women's clothes he could find. Azry wanted to roll her eyes at him, or glare, but had no energy left for outpourings of emotion. Luckily, Mahariel seemed angry enough for both of them. 

Dalish elves, Azry thought to herself, a little tiredly. 

While Duncan worked on her armour, figuring out what parts could be salvaged for the journey and what he could replace at Ostagar, Azry tried to fix her mother's necklace. She tried to ignore the stares from Mahariel, though it felt like her eyes were boring holes into Azry's back. She wondered why the Dalish girl felt the need to stare so hard. Do the Dalish not have sentimental items the way she did? Azry let her thoughts on Dalish culture stop there, after the way Mahariel acted the previous day, Azry doubted there was any chance of her asking questions about her home. 

The green glass ovals were all but destroyed, the metal frames that kept them in place only had a few pieces of glass left clinging to them. Azry ignored the lump in her throat as she tried to pry the last bits of decoration from the leather of the collar, even as memories of her mother small into her mind, making her remember how beautiful the collar looked on her mother's throat, how the light sparkled off it as she showed Azry the correct form for fighting with two blades. She hadn't been wearing it the day she died, Azry suddenly remembered. It felt odd to think of a thing like that. Maybe nostalgia was rising up now because she was about to leave everything behind. Azry sighed, feeling tears sting at her eyes once more, but did not start crying again. She'd had her grief-stricken moment. She couldn't afford that anymore, not when there was clearly a war to fight and things to be done. With a deep breath, she pried off the last frame, leaving just the leather behind. Azry ran her hand over the leather once, feeling the soft indentations where the metal had been, before fastening the necklace around her neck, trying her hardest to ignore the memory of Shianni's careful hands and soft, light touch doing the same. She gently touched the leather once more feeling the stitching. She could not even remember who had made this for her mother, and at this moment it felt like such vital information that she could not hold back her tears without gasping. 

Azry had promised herself that there would be no more grieving, but even she could not help but wonder how fair it was for someone's life to be completely changed twice so closely to each other? She glanced over her shoulder, where Mahariel was studying her Dalish made pauldrons, frowning at the etched symbols like they had personally offended her. In her knitted brow, Azry thought she could see something like grief; the harsh, black lines burnt into her face seemed to prove the theory. For someone so young to have their marks of grief displayed so proudly tore at something deep in Azry, something that she knew came from her familiarity with such a grief.  
Azry wondered just how much a person was expected to handle before they collapsed beneath the weight of their own grief, how much could their bodies handle before they were too strung open to truly feel again?

She was stirred from her thoughts by Duncan, who had decided that just her breastplate was beyond repair, and began to help her strap her gauntlets and pauldrons on, but first helped her into a layer of chainmail. He warned Azry that it wouldn't be much protection, but hopefully they wouldn't run into much trouble before he could replace her armour. Azry was only half-listening, her attention divided by the confusing make of the chainmail. The metal did not feel like metal at all, but rather life dense wood, and the links were too finely made for it to be standard armour. 

“Mahariel graciously lent you her chainmail, she would rather see you to Ostagar without a stomach wound,” Duncan said, his eyes twinkling rather merrily. This did not sound like something the Dalish girl would say at all, and Azry's theory was confirmed as Mahariel glared darkly at Duncan's back, and while she was strapping on her own armour, she looked rather longingly at the chainmail. 

“Thank you. I promise you'll get it back unscathed,” Azry said, trying her hardest not to make it sound sarcastic. Either she failed, or the Dalish girl decided that she would make no attempt at a truce, as her face screwed up into a scowl that Azry had to hold in a laugh for. It made her look every inch her true fifteen year old self, Azry thought, though the idea made her a little sad. Here was a person even younger than Azry that had her life ruined. She could not imagine a Dalish turning to the Grey Wardens out of anything but desperation. 

Once all three of them were armoured, Azry finishing off her set with the belt that contained her dagger, Duncan led them out to the stables, where the horse they'd ridden out of Denerim grazed next to a darker horse, though roughly the same build. Azry guessed the other horse was Duncan's, and hoped that she would be able to ride with him. Mahariel's distaste of the animal had led to a very uncomfortable ride, from what Azry had been awake for. To her surprise, Duncan led the horses out, but gave the reins straight to Azry, not even bothering to include Mahariel in the choosing. In confusion, Azry stood rather dumb, looking over at the girl who was now organising her quiver of beautifully carved arrows. Duncan caught her look as he mounted his horse. 

“She prefers to run. The horses make her nervous,” Duncan explained. Azry didn't feel like this was enough information, but swung up onto her horse anyway, feeling her injuries throb a little, but not enlighten that she couldn't handle them. She slid a hand into the pouch Duncan gave her, checking to make sure the elfroot concoctions were still there. 

“Can she keep up?” Azry asked, dubiously eyeing the girl, who was long legged and lithe, but still very young. Mahariel had obviously heard her, and her entire posture bristled, as if she was insulted by the very idea that she couldn't. When Duncan didn't reply, Azry looked over at him. He was grinning widely, apparently in on some joke that Azry was not yet privy to. 

“You'll see,” he said simply, before he frowned. “Have you ridden a horse before?” He asked, nodding at how loosely Azry held he reins and her distinctly uncomfortable posture. 

“I have, but only with my father,” she said. She did not fear the beasts, they were harmless to those who treated them with respect, as with anything, but she'd never ridden one on her own and found the prospect daunting. Duncan helped her to sit in the saddle comfortably, hold the reins close enough to be in control and gave her a quick run down on how to move with how fast the horse ran. By the time he was done, Mahariel had tied down her quiver, slung it across her back along with her bow, and was tapping her foot in anticipation and probably more than a little annoyance. 

“Just let the horse follow mine. He'll know what to do,” Duncan said, smiling kindly. Azry nodded, and as an afterthought stroked her horse's neck. He shook his head, making pleased huffing noises, which settled Azry a little more. She nodded to Duncan, making sure her boots, thankfully undamaged by the events of the previous day, were settled in the stirrups and that her hands were correctly positioned. He smiled again at her, did the man have any other facial expression? Azry thought, and then Duncan nodded at Mahariel, whose face seemed to twitch as if about to smile, before she spun on her heel and took off, running faster than Azry had ever seen anyone go. Her mouth dropped open in shock as Duncan laughed, and spurred his horse. Azry quickly did the same, the horses nearly having to gallop to keep up with the Dalish girl. Azry did not bother to retain her surprise as they neared her.

Mahariel was able to keep up the pace for the entire morning, in fact she seemed utterly displeased that Duncan called for a quick break to water the horses. Azry stood by the river, keeping one eye on her horse, while Mahariel began to work through a view stretches. Despite her armour, Azry was shocked again by the easy ripple that she went through them, and by the girl's incredible flexibility. Azry was quite flexible herself, her fighting style called for it, but to see the things Mahariel could do, while wearing armour, put Azry's skill to shame. Duncan came over to her, leading his horse and letting the reins drop once it bent its head to the river. His face was smug, and if Azry wasn't still in a state of shock she might've punched him. Smug humans were the worst kind of humans, but in this case she did not blame him. 

“Think she kept up?” He asked, mirth in his tone. Azry couldn't even push away her surprise long enough to give him even the weakest of withering looks. 

“She's incredible. I couldn't do that with armour on for an hour, she's kept it up all morning! That's gotta be a Dalish thing,” Azry said, a little ashamed by the astonishment and admiration in her voice. Duncan nodded, thankfully not teasing her. Azry's pride could barely allow for any more banter between herself and the Warden. 

“She was the best hunter in her clan. Strong, swift, incredible eye. I saw her bring down a tainted bear with a straight shot through its eye,” Duncan said, and while for the most part he sounded as admiring as Azry had been, Azry could also hear wistfulness, as if he'd rather never had seen that incredible act. Azry realised it must've been the day Mahariel was recruited.

“I've only ever heard about tainted creatures. Were they common near her clan?” Azry asked, though she desperately wanted to ask about the circumstances around Duncan making such a young girl a Warden. Duncan seemed to see through the question, and gave Azry an appraising look. She steeled a little bit at it, trying to fight down the images of savers doing the same thing. She told herself sternly that she was not being sold into slavery, though a small part of her wondering if being conscripted into the Grey Wardens wasn't a little but similar.

Whatever test Duncan was forming in his mind, Azry appeared to pass as he looked at her kindly, and then turned a sadder look at Mahariel. 

“Tainted creatures are more common during a blight, though they are not unheard of, particularly around underground ruins,” Duncan said slowly, as if weighing his words. He sighed a little as Mahariel finished her stretching, and began again the process of checking her bow and arrows. “There is only one cure for a person who has been tainted, and it nearly did not get to her,” Duncan said with an air of finality. 

Azry watched him tug his horse gently away from the river and walked with it over to his fellow Warden. His face loosened when he spoke to her, Azry noticed, and couldn't help but see it as talking down to a child. Perhaps that's what Mahariel needed, more than a commander. Judging from her face, however, Azry could see she did not like it at all. She wondered, not for the first or last time, what Mahariel was thinking. She was expressive, that was for certain, but those expressions did not betray her true thoughts. Azry thought about what Duncan had said, and could picture Mahariel staggering away from the corpse of some great creature, wounded and covered in gore, her bow broken and arrows depleted. She felt a pang again, that connection to Mahariel's unsaid grief that Azry herself knew. 

Azry pulled her horse away from the river, and stroked along his neck again. He made a snickering noise and nudged her with his nose, and the action was so unexpected Azry laughed. The sound shocked her as much as Mahariel's speed. She didn't know how she was able to laugh this soon. Her throat still held a lump of unrepentant emotions, her head still throbbed with the remnants of a concussion and when she had time to look into a looking glass she knew that her face would be battered and bruised, and yet there was no denying that laugh. For a moment, she panicked. Was she forgetting her home already? 

Yet when Duncan called for her to mount up, she did so without hesitation. As much as tried not to let it bother her, Azry's obedience to the man stirred disgust in her, and she knew that once she got to Ostagar, there may be a chance of her suppressing her grief so much that she may never truly mourn properly. For reassurance, she touched her wedding ring, now threaded onto her belt. The rough carving of the Tree of the People sent a wave of comfort through her and she found herself clear headed enough to catch up to Duncan and Mahariel as they began to turn down the road heading south. 

\--

It took another three days to reach Ostagar. When they got close, and the ruins rose up before them, all Azry could think was Ostagar must've been impressive in its time. They'd slowed to a walk they were past the remnants of a gate, Duncan leading them through the maze of crumbling white buildings. Mahariel, who had looked almost happy while running astride the horses, had resumed her usual 'disgusted by everything and everyone' face. She did not seem even remotely interested in the almost artful crumbling of the once great fortress, whereas Azry could not look at everything enough. The scale of it was enough to push other thoughts to the back of her mind, as she tried to comprehend the sheer size of the place, and it was still impressive in its diminished state. What an incredible place it must've been when it wasn't a ruin! Azry let herself be amazed for a few more moments, and then steeled herself. Duncan had already pulled his horse to a stop in front of them, and Mahariel was stretching out her legs as she took long, slow steps. Azry felt nervousness harden in her stomach, weighing her like a stone. She wasn't even sure what she was nervous about, she'd been hardship all her life. A battlefield shouldn't be much harder than her life in the Alienage, surely?

Duncan smiled warmly at her as she dismounted and tied the horse to a post. Azry did not smile back, but her age-old repulsion of humans did not rise either. Maybe he was as genuine as he tried to be. He hadn't done anything to make her distrust him. She nodded politely back and, seemingly satisfied, Duncan turned to walk towards the remains of an outpost before a huge bridge. Mahariel had already stalked off into the building, and stood waiting for Duncan and Azry to catch up, her shoulder lent up against the doorway. As she walked up to it, Azry tried to recall the rundown of information Duncan had given her. Blight, darkspawn, armies fighting, all the information seemed about as substantial as wet vellum. Only what he told her about Grey Wardens seemed to stick, and he had been incredibly sparse with it. 

She knew she'd be able to sense the darkspawn approaching, and that even if she ever left the Wardens, she'd still be one, but as for how or why Azry did not know, and Duncan had not elaborated further. He did say that all would be explained after the Joining, but Azry was beginning to feel like she was being lied to about the whole thing. Maybe she wasn't to be a Grey Warden after all.

As she got closer to Mahariel and Duncan, who had caught up to her and was waiting with the Dalish elf, Azry realised just how dumb her internal questioning was and that of course she was becoming a Grey Warden, what did she think was going to happen to her? That they'd get her all this way and then throw her at the darkspawn?

Duncan and Mahariel's heads turned as someone's voice greeted them, and Azry jogged to catch up with them. As she reached the Wardens, she could see a small squad of soldiers, all wearing the same armour emblazoned with two snarling dogs. They were being lead by a dark haired man, whose face was weathered and sour, and a man wearing the showiest armour Azry had ever seen, the gold of it was a clear target while the sun glinted off it. It was tooled into some sort of animal possibly, and it looked like it was designed to be impressive rather than functional. Azry would've laid money down for him to be the first to fall in the next battle.

“Duncan, hello! Welcome back. And to you as well, Mahariel!” Said the terribly armoured man, shaking hands with Duncan and grinning broadly at the Dalish elf. Judging from the look of fear that flashed across his face, Mahariel was giving him a particularly threatening face. Azry had to stop herself laughing, and made a mental note to congratulate the girl later. It was then that the man turned his attention on her, and she wished suddenly that she could make disgusted expressions as well as Mahariel. She settled for bored and uninterested as the man came up to her, holding out his hand. 

“You must be the new one we've heard about. Welcome to the field of glory!” He said, and everything about him screamed self-important, pompous moron, even in the way that he avoided looking at her face too long, deliberately ignoring her beaten face. A moment later and Duncan introduced him as King Cailan Theirin, and Azry's judgement of him was confirmed in to herself. Human noble, not just that, but most noble human in Fereldan. Just bloody fucking brilliant. She looked down at the outstretched hand, looked up into the man's face and deliberately crossed her arms. Unfazed, he let his hand drop but annoyingly kept smiling at her. “Was your journey uneventful?” he asked, and if there was anything that could make the last week of Azry's life any worse, it would be this. The King of Fereldan, attempting smalltalk on an elf that he helped to suppress. Luckily Duncan answered for her, relieving her of any further 'polite' discussions.

“Very uneventful, something I've heard has not happened here,” he said, and Azry felt grateful to the Senior Warden for directing the conversation back to the present. His Majesty, it seemed, would not be dissuading from taunting Azry with his cheeriness and overall disgusting smarminess. She had not met anyone so pleased to be themselves in the worst possible way. She already hated human nobles, but it seemed like the King was determined to make himself into the personification of everything she despised.

“Well, Loghain will tell you all about that, but I want to know about Denerim! How is everything? And where did you uncover her?” Cailan said, and Azry nearly flinched when he turned a more curious look at her. She could feel the hairs on her arms rising as she fought back an urge to smack the man. Maybe she could do it during a battle and pass it off as an accident.

Or during training. Would she train with the King? She could probably throw something at him and hide behind her Grey Warden status. 

“She was in the Alienage, your Majesty,” Duncan explained, when Azry said nothing. He sounded rather exhasperated, and Azry guessed that he was probably tired of Mahariel's stoic silence and he did not want another Warden like her. She took pity on him, enough to get her to talk, but not enough to be polite to the human King. 

“Of course. And what made you stand out?” Cailan said jovially. Right, thought Azry. That's done it. 

“I'm no expert, but I'm guessing it was the incredibly efficient way I killed the Arl of Denerim's son, most of his household and possibly a few of his friends for brutally beating and raping elvish girls who happened to be my friends and family,” Azry said, keeping her tone light and airy as Cailan's face sank into horror. She took a lot of pleasure in seeing the shock on this clearly naive man's face. He looked helplessly at her for a very long time, and for each second Azry felt more and more vindicated in what she had said. Keeping the smile on her face was easy when she felt like she could fall to the ground laughing at his face and how every human who heard was now incredibly uncomfortable. Mahariel gave her what could be interpreted as an admiring look for half a second, and Azry grinned back.

“What?” The King asked finally, his voice weak with shock. He turned his helpless look at Duncan, who sighed. It sounded as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Azry did not pity him now. If he was going to cover up what she'd done, he wasn't a very good subject of his King. 

“I'll explain in much more detail, Your Majesty. I can assure you it was more complicated than that,” Duncan said, and Cailan gave Azry one last look, perhaps reassessing his opinion of her, but Azry could not care less what he thought of her. She'd be a Grey Warden soon, and be above his reproach. Rather vindicating for a city-born elf. 

“Well...I'd better get back. Loghain can't wait to bore me with strategy,” Cailan said, some of his bravado slipping back into his voice. The sour man frowned deeply at his words.

“Boring but life saving and battle winning, Your Majesty,” he said, and Azry guessed that he must be Loghain. She wondered if anyone had told him he looked very much like a villain in a cautionary tale. Cailan waved off his words, and Azry noticed he was now willfully ignoring the two elves. Just like a human noble to ignore a problem in the hope it would go away. He was now saying something avidly about glory or demons or something, but Azry took his lead and ignored him as well. She barely noticed him turn to leave, and the only reason she did was because she saw Duncan pull Mahariel aside at the same time.

“I've pulled Jaegen and Fortman from the Tower, you'll head up there to keep guard with Loghain's men. You'll be joined by the new recruits once they're through the Joining,” he was saying, and from the look of complete and utter revulsion on her face, Mahariel would rather eat her arrows than go to this tower. She shook her head vehemently, but Duncan would not be moved. “You will obey my orders, Mahariel. This isn't your clan. What I tell you to do is not negotiable,” he said. There was an icy silence between them that made Azry's arm hair stand on end. Finally, with a curse probably in Dalish, Mahriel stalked back the way they came, clearly furious and not sparing either of them a second look. Azry felt like she should pity her, but she wasn't sure how terrible guarding a tower should be. Duncan's face was sad as he watched her go, as if he regretted something. Azry was willing to bet that he would've rather never taken her from her clan. She hoped that was the case, that he had no other choice. 

“I'll show you through the camp, but I'll have to leave you with a junior Warden. He'll show you through the Joining,” Duncan said, gesturing for Azry to walk beside him. Frowning, she did so and they fell into step as they crossed the bridge. 

“So, I'm being dumped onto someone as green as me while you go off and fight?” Azry said, not bothering to keep the snappy tone out of her voice. She heard Duncan sigh, and had to stop herself laughing again. She wasn't ready to admit she would like to be friends with the man, but she could respect that he was in a difficult position, not only with her but in the battles ahead too. “Bet you weren't expecting another angry elf, were you?” Azry continued, smirking at him. Duncan seemed shocked for a moment before he let out a short bark of laughter.

“Mahariel has indeed put a few hairs greyer on me,” he replied, smiling. Azry rolled her eyes, still conflicted with how easy it was to talk to him. Must be a Grey Warden thing. 

Silence fell between them as they crossed the bridge, Azry's mouth nearly dropping open at the view. The battlefield stretched out beneath them, already littered with corpses and broken weaponry, but looking past that she could see a forest stretching out as far as she could see. It seemed so strange that there could be so many trees, but she didn't voice that thought. She grew up in city where the only tree she could remember being in it was the Tree of the People in her Alienage. Seeing anymore than one would be incredible for her. The bridge itself was impressive too, and it seemed in better repair than the rest of the fortress. It seemed to be more important strategically, as the archers stationed along each side seemed to evident. Azry couldn't help but be impressed. No wonder they'd won the last few battles. Loghain must be very good at planning these battles. 

They reached the main camp, and Azry could see every sideways look the soldiers were giving her. She did not care whether they were staring at her because she was bruised or an elf, but simply lifted her head a little higher and stared back. Most of them blushed and looked away, and she smirked, her eyes taking on a glint of repulsion. Surrounded by humans, what a fate. She was looking forward to ignoring their very existence when she became a Grey Warden. 

“I must go and organise the other Wardens. Follow the path up to your right, past the smith, and you'll see a young man, Alistair, with a shield emblazoned with the Grey Warden sigil,” Duncan said pointing her way. Azry frowned at him, not sure what the Grey Warden's sigil was supposed to be. Duncan caught on, luckily, and gestured to the symbol on his chest plate, two griffons on either side of a cup. Azry nodded, and Duncan clapped her on the shoulder once, before turning and walking towards a grey and blue striped tent. Azry resisted the urge to brush her shoulder off and turned to walk up the direction he pointed. The smith glared at her when she walked past, but she took no notice of him, even when he called out after her, probably saying something derogatory. She'd deal with him later, she promised herself. On the other side of the path was a man standing very still, and in very long, ornate robes. As she got closer, Azry could see the sun branded onto his forehead, the famous symbol for the Chantry, and winced. He did not even seem to notice her when she passed. She couldn't begin to even think of why anyone would have that done voluntarily, or if it was a punishment, what on Thedas did he do? 

As she walked up a slightly steeper section, the sounds of an argument grew louder. A man in his middle years was yelling something about mages or other, and waving his rather lance-like staff around, while a weary looking younger man attempted to reason with him. He was saying something about them all working together, but as it appeared the mage was not having it. Azry slowly approached them, incredibly concerned about ending up in the middle of this rather heated discussion, when the mage threw up his hands and stalked off, shoving his way past her with an angry, “Get out of my way!” Azry could barely form a counter remark before he was stomping back the way she came. She scoffed at his back, annoyed he couldn't hear her, so that she couldn't say something cutting, never mind her earlier fears about being dragged in. He'd personally insulted her, and she had never been able to stand for that. 

“I do love how a Blight brings us all together,” came a voice behind her. Azry turned, and the younger man turned a dazzling smile at her, but his eyes did linger on her still bruised face. Azry had seen many a dazzling smile from a young human man and so was vastly unimpressed, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“It's just like a family outing,” she said back, her voice drawling. If possible, the young man's smile grew even brighter.  
“Exactly. The family that butchers dawkspawn together debates over whether the Chantry should send messengers of former-Templars to mages together,” he quipped. Azry looked back to where the mage had left.  
“Is that really all that was about? Seems a bit trivial, what with a war going on,” she remarked. The young man shrugged. 

“People always find time for trivial things during wars. Hanging onto sanity or something,” he said, and there was something very thoughtful in his look. Azry took a moment to glance him up and down. From what she'd heard of the Templars, they were meant to be very powerful warriors, skilled and determined and always the protectors and hunters of mages. This boy seemed rather young to even be training as a Templar, let alone a former one, if he had been referring to himself. He had a shield and a sword strapped to his back, and another sword hanging from his hip. The swords were a rather plain, uniform make, but the shield looked very sturdy, and rather well forged. Judging from his armour, which was plain and unmarked but looked freshly forged with only a few scrapes and scratches, his age and the general relaxed feel of him, Azry was willing to bet this was Alistair.

“Are you Alistair, the Junior Warden, by any chance?” Azry asked, and nearly chuckled at the startled look he gave her. He eyed her suspiciously, and she cracked a grin, barely keeping her mirth-filled laughter behind her lips. 

“Yes...why? Are you another mage, come to scold me for obeying orders?” He asked, giving her what he must assume to be a threatening sideways look but coming off rather like a frightened rabbit. Azry would not put him much older than twenty, making her at least four years his senior. He was no more threatening to her than the stray dogs that had wandered through her Alienage.

“Wouldn't that just make your day?” She said, grinning at him. He gave her a wry smile, before there was a brightness in his eyes and he pointed at her rather viciously. Azry took a step back, her face screwing up in slight shock.

“You're that one Duncan mentioned in his letter! The one from Denerim, right! Blimey, he did say you'd been knocked about a bit but your face is very purple,” Alistair rambled, and then his mouth clamped shut and he blushed right into his hairline. Azry let out a loud laugh.

“And yours is rather pink now!” Azry said through her laughter. She was rather tired of people willfully ignoring it or forcing potions down her throat, having something point out her rather obvious facial injury was almost refreshing. Alistair grinned at her, though he was still blushing furiously. It didn't do much to detract from his obvious youth. 

“I did want to make a better first impression than oh god, look at that bruising, but we don't always get what we want. That was brave, by the way, fighting of all those men,” he said, looking a little more serious. Azry's spine prickled with discomfort at his words. She didn't need his praise, or anyone's. She didn't do it to be brave.

“How much has he told you?” She said, noting her accusatory tone. Alistair looked sheepish again.  
“Not much. Well, hasn't told me much. I imagine the older Wardens will get the full story after the King does,” he said, looking at his feet. After a moment, Azry let him off the hook with a sigh. The boy clearly did not know how to keep his mouth shut. Probably why he was a Grey Warden now and not a Templar. 

“Well, drop it for now. If you're a good boy and help me pass the Joining, maybe I'll tell you the full story,” Azry said, and Alistair swore violently and slapped a palm to his forehead, an abrupt action that made Azry jump back from him again. 

“The Joining! Literally the only job Duncan gave me, and I'm already forgetting about it. Sorry, we'll get onto it right away, I just have to find the other recruits,” Alistair said, his words tripping over each other as they tumbled from his mouth. Azry sighed again, and crossed her arms. Great. Junior Warden and incompetent. She didn't come all this way not to even have a chance at becoming a Warden. She'd even given up the idea that she would try to run away. All that dedication, thrown away on a barely trained Warden, even if the dedication was only in her head. Still. She deserved much better than this. “Can you just got to the gates to the Wilds? I'll meet you there. It's just past the mabari kennels,” Alistair said, smiling apologetically at her, before he dashed off down another path. Azry let out her loudest sigh yet, and turned to go back down the path, following the sound of the war dogs' barking. 

For a man supposed to be part of a group of well-respected warriors, Azry could not help feeling that Alistair was a long, long way over his head. She also strangely felt sorry for him, a feeling that she put well out of her mind once she was back among the glares of the soldiers. He was human, young and apparently scatterbrained. She could not feel sorry for him, or feel anything for him. He was barely worth her time. 

Azry kept telling herself that, but a part of her mind spoke the truth: she pitied him, because she saw a common bond between herself, Mahariel, and now Alistair. All three of them had not come here proudly or triumphantly. The only difference between the human boy and the elves was that he was grateful, truly grateful for what the Grey Wardens had done. Azry could only regret that it was necessary. 

Once at the gate, she checked her armour, drank down another one of those disgusting potions just in case, and settled on the ground near it to wait. She had a feeling she might be waiting a while. There were a lot of humans for Alistair to pick through, and they all looked the same to Azry. With a yawn, she stretched her arms up, ignoring the way her armour dug into her biceps, and decided on cleaning her dagger, still in its artful belt sheath, to pass the time. The guard at the gate gave her one last suspicious look, before turning back to his duty. Azry settled into her task, a smile on her face that was mocking, and a little bit pleased.


	5. My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And God knows I'm not dying but I bleed now  
> And God knows it's the only way to heal now  
> With all the blood I lost with you  
> It drowns the love I thought I knew
> 
> \- My Blood, Ellie Goulding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, while hard to begin, became very easy to write and is now probably my favourite chapter. Writing Alistair is really enjoyable and being able to remake Jory and Daveth to how I pictured they would be was very freeing as a writer!  
> I'm finally getting a little bit more organised, so chapters should come out a lot more frequently. Thank you so much to my roommate and editor, Sami, who stayed up until nearly 6 to edit this monstrosity. Darling, you are my absolute favourite. 
> 
> Please note: Yes, this is a write of Dragon Age, but I am not doing it exactly how things happen. A lot of the events that take place within Ostagar I have taken out, because in my mind they do not fit. Anything hugely important I have moved to different places. 
> 
> My tumblr, if you want to ask questions or just nag me about updates, is babsbatgirl.tumblr.com :)

“-um, oh, by the Maker, I never asked your name, did I?” said Alistair's voice from a little further back down the path. 

Azry rolled her eyes and slid the dagger back into her belt. She stood up to watch him walking towards her and tied the belt back around her waist. Alistair's face was rather sheepish and behind him were two other (ugh) human men. One was rather worn looking and the other was probably a lord or something, the way he looked like everything was so far beneath him. Azry already began to feel worn out by their presence. 

“I also did not even think to put you in proper armour, I'm doing well on showing you how a capable Warden does things,” Alistair said once he reached her, his dry humour falling rather flat as he blushed. 

Azry raised an eyebrow. She was glad to hear that he was admitting he was completely useless so that she didn't have to tell him herself. There was a moment of silence between them where Alistair looked at her like he was waiting for something. Azry just stared back at him, keeping an expression of boredom firmly on her face. 

“Erm. I had hoped that was cue enough for you to tell me your name?” Alistair said, sounding very unsure. 

Maybe it was unkind to torture him like this, but Azry had to have some fun while she still could. She sighed, giving him a side ways look. 

“So,” he asked weakly, “what's your name?”

He looked thoroughly intimidated, despite the fact that he towered over her in both height and broadness. It made Azry incredibly happy. Ah, it was nice to have a Warden under her thumb already.

“Adaia,” she said after a pause, taking pity on the poor boy and holding out her hand. He grinned so broadly and shook her hand so earnestly that Azry couldn't help crack a grin. He was a puppy. An overgrown puppy. 

“Wonderful! Thank you so much. I am incredibly rude for not asking earlier. I promise I will take extra care in remembering it,” Alistair babbled, only letting go of her hand to point out the two men behind him. “These are the other recruits, Daveth and Ser Jory,” he said, pointing first to the older man, who waved and then to the noble looking bald man, who nodded at her. Azry could see the derision clear in his eyes and gave him the same look back. 

“Haven't ever seen an elf as well armed as you before,” Daveth said, grinning at her with mischief written all over his features. Azry raised an eyebrow at him, wondering where he was going with that. Jory sniffed and gave her a very suspicious look. 

“Well then, Duncan has asked that we fit you in some actual armour, rather than this mismatch,” Alistair said while Azry stared Jory down. When the noble Ser Jory finally looked away, his face distinctly uncomfortable, Azry turned back to Alistair. He looked confused by what had passed between her and Jory.

“I'd appreciate something more protective than chainmail, as well made as this is,” Azry said cordially. 

Alistair looked relieved and pointed her over to a tent that was little more than canvas stretched over sticks. Within it was a man polishing a breastplate, surrounded by sets of armour on dummies stacked neatly on the ground or piled up in trunks.

“I'm afraid we haven't got any real Grey Warden armour with us, but there should be something that fits in here. This is basically the leftovers tent,” Alistair said, leading Azry to a trunk that the man polishing armour had pointed out. 

Azry knelt in front of it, pulling out a small breastplate that was tapered off slightly in the waist. It was smaller and considerably lighter than the rest of the armour, but still bigger than she and not at all designed for the much slimmer frames of the elves. She looked up at Alistair, who looked rather embarrassed. 

“Well, there aren't a lot of female elves in the army. Or the Grey Wardens for that matter,” he explained. 

Azry frowned, feeling her blood stir just enough to make her face screw up in distaste. “They're generally smart enough to avoid this sort of bullshit,” she said bitterly, trying one last time to find something just that bit smaller. She found a set that looked like it had been worn by a human child, it was so pitiful, but it was better than what she had on. 

“Then what does that make you?” came a sneering remark from Jory. 

Azry waited a long moment before she stood and turned slowly. Her blood was like fire in her veins and every muscle of her skin felt like steel. You let your guard down around humans for one moment and look what happens, she scolded herself. She looked Jory straight in his eyes and was delighted to watch the sneer fall from his face and his skin turn deathly pale. His hand moved to hover over his sword uncertainly. He almost went to grip it as Azry slid her dagger out, holding it loosely. She ran a finger along its edge, not taking her eyes off the man and smirked as the fear in his eyes turned to outright terror. 

“Someone you do not want to cross, Ser Jory,” she said, letting her complete distaste for him slip into every word. 

He looked so terrified that for a moment she was taken back to Denerim, to sitting over Vaughn while she killed him slowly. He dropped his eyes and walked away and Azry let out one shaky breath. The images of the Denerim noble dying beneath her were not unwelcome, but she didn't want to think about the reasons for her being there for too long, lest the grief for her cousin overwhelm her. 

“Looked like he was about to piss his pants! Oh, that was excellent. I'll be watching my back around you, knifey,” Daveth chortled, grinning so widely that Azry had a momentary desire to see his face split open. 

“Knifey?” she quoted, glaring at him and sheathing her dagger. 

Daveth winked merrily at her. “Your blade's as sharp as your ears, love,” he said as nonchalantly as anyone could be.

Azry's face contorted with astonished disgust. “You're a complete fucking moron,” she said, not even trying to be civil.

He shrugged. “Born and bred, darlin'.”

She did not know how to convey her distaste for the man any more than she was doing, so with a scathing noise she turned back to the armour and began stripping hers off, though she left the chainmail on underneath. She didn't even consider leaving Mahariel's beautiful Dalish armour to a human's care. 

Alistair helped her belt on the new set. Much to her dismay she realised that she couldn't have put it on alone,so she couldn't brush him off. She had to hold in her grumble as he fastened her pauldrons, while apologising profusely when he pulled them just a little too tight and she gasped. She waved it off and mentally scolded herself for making any noise at all. 

Once he was done, he stepped back to a rather respectful distance and she finished buckling on her gauntlets and hooking the sabatons over her boots. Once she was done she stretched experimentally and found that the armour dug in less, it was certainly more protective than her stolen set. It was kind of nice having a matching set, it felt almost formal. 

“I've got a couple of short swords ready for you too. Duncan said you prefer to fight two handed?” Alistair asked. He picked up a criss-cross of brown leather sheaths and handed them to her.

The handles of each swords were plain, but sturdy and when she pulled one out to inspect, the blades were sharp and strong. Alistair helped her again, much to her displeasure, and strapped it over her breastplate. He showed her how to buckle it herself, which Azry appreciated. She didn't want to go to help for anything, much less to a human for help with her weapons. That's just insulting. She tested pulling the blades out and found it to be easier than she thought it would be. It would take a couple of tries for her to be able to slide them back in as neatly, but for now, she had the time to carefully sheathe them after a few experimental twirls. The lightness of the blades did concern her a little, but the steel was very sturdy. She hoped it was enough, but she didn't trust many human made things and these blades were a little too uniform. She'd find something better along the way. 

“All right, I think I'm all set. Let's do this,” she said once the short swords were sheathed and her belt was tied around her waist. She slung the bag containing her elfroot potions over her head and tightened the strap across her chest. 

Alistair nodded and motioned for Jory to come back over. He did so, but very warily, fear sparking back into his eyes when Azry bared her teeth at him. The frightened noise he let out made Azry laugh, and surprisingly Daveth also. 

“You sound like a kitten! Some mighty warrior you are,” Daveth guffawed. Azry would've been endeared to him a little over that remark if he hadn't been so abominably racist before. 

Alistair finished talking with the guard, who was unsure about letting them out, and finally called for the gates to be open. Two huge, fluffy dogs stood on either side of the gate, their haunches raised and every muscle of their bodies poised to attack. Azry couldn't help but be impressed, they were definitely the largest dogs she'd ever seen and so beautiful. One of them looked at her on the way out and the expression could only be one of scrutiny. Azry knew that war dogs were intelligent, but she honestly believed now that the dog could assess exactly how much a danger she was and how best to attack her. She nodded her head at the creature and to her shock it nodded back, before turning its gaze back to the Wilds.

“They're bloody huge! I thought that one was gonna rip right into you, Addie!” Daveth all but yelled, and Azry bristled at the stupid nickname.

“It's Adaia,” she said, keeping her eyes forward. With any luck, Daveth and Jory would be brutally murdered by darkspawn or something. 

“Not a fan of nicknames?” he asked, his voice annoyingly merry. 

Azry sighed. “No. Nor of smart-asses, nobles or people who think fucking around with me is funny,” she said shortly, looking back to deliver him her worst glare. She was really hoping for the chance to sink her blades into something before she actually ripped Daveth's head right off. 

He held his hands up in surrender, though his smile did not leave his face. Sighing again, she turned her attention back to the front, where Alistair was leading them into a particularly swampy area. Not a good area for fighting. Too many slippery patches, she noted, wondering where the boy Warden was leading them. 

“We shouldn't be here,” came Jory's voice, weak and shaking.

Azry held in yet another sigh. Were they always going to be this annoying? 

“What makes you say that?” Alistair asked, sounding rather amused. Apparently Azry wasn't the only one that found him ridiculous. 

Jory looked at Alistair like he thought the Warden was insane. “There's Witches and Chasind and a thousand more terrible beasts in these Wilds! The Kocari Wilds are filled with dangers,” Jory explained, as if he was trying to frighten them. It didn't work, the quavering note in his voice made him sound even more like a child. Daveth didn't even try to hide his mocking laughter and Alistair looked genuinely confused by Jory's remarks. 

“You think Witches and Chasind are more dangerous and frightening than the literal horde of darkspawn that are a few day's march away? That you will have to fight tomorrow, after going through a painful Joining ritual?” Alistair asked, and while 'painful ritual' disturbed Azry, the rest of his words made her join Daveth's laughter. 

Jory's opened his mouth as if to argue, but no words escaped his lips. He looked rather like a child that had been told he couldn't have that last treat. Alistair smirked at him and turned back to continue walking into the forest. Daveth following closely, still roaring with laughter and Azry shot Jory a look, quirking her lips smugly, before joining them. 

It was some time before Alistair spoke again and the terrain proved tricky enough to walk through that even Daveth stopped talking. Azry, who was used to fighting on mostly flat, hard ground, was concerned by how far her feet sank in the marsh. She knew she was a good, quick fighter, but she doubted she'd be effective while her ankles were stuck in swamp. 

She remained quiet on her complaints, determined not to sink to Jory's standards. The man had continued to moan the whole journey, and had annoyed them so much that Daveth's light teasing had turned to harsh insults. Azry couldn't help but agree with his words. She'd had enough of the lord and if one of the horrors he had been so worried about sprung from the nearest bush and attacked she'd probably be thankful for the break from him. 

Alistair stilled and looked out to his right, just as they reached firmer ground. Azry watched him warily, her hands twitching as she thought of her swords. Alistair's eyes were far away, but he was poised as if he was hearing a sound from a great distance. His hand was on the pommel of his sword, gripping it tightly. She could see the tension in his knuckles. His head snapped back up, startling Daveth behind him, and he drew his sword and pulled his shield from his back.

“Four, maybe five darkspawn heading this way. Only scouts, nothing we can't handle,” Alistair said, nodding over where Jory was still coming from. 

Azry drew her blades and faced the direction Alistair had indicated. Jory armed himself with his own sword and shield, and Daveth drew a two handed sword, adopting an easy stance. Alistair moved to stand just in front of Azry, keep on her right so that his shield arm was closest to her. She pushed down her irritation at his action, knowing it was important to protect her as a lightly armoured as she was. Jory had done the same to Daveth, though his face made it seem like he wasn't too happy with the arrangement. 

After that, there wasn't too much to take in much more than five grotesque creatures charging at them. It was hard to push aside her horror to fight them, but when Alistair moved forward, his movements sure and purposeful, Azry followed behind, gripping her twin swords. 

“Jory, wake up!” Alistair bellowed suddenly, leaping to his right to intercept one of the demented beings that was charging at a frozen Jory. 

Azry, now without someone to block the blows she couldn't, picked up her pace and swung her swords experimentally. One of the darkspawn were close to her, close enough that she could see the evil, twisted features, the long pointed teeth that hung lopsided from its mouth, the blackened gunk that stuck to every part of it. It made a noise that sounded like laughter, but it was dark and gravelled and Azry could not remember hearing a more evil sound. It was wielding a wicked looking sword, and was preparing to strike her head; it's arms were raised high above its own. As it swung down, Azry rolled to her left, landing just beside the creature, and quickly sliced the back on of its calves. It fell, but did not make any pained noise, just more of that horrid laughter. Azry stood, dodged its stabs, and quickly cut into its neck, severing it from its body. The mouth was still grinning even as it rolled across the ground. 

“Excellent work, knifey!” Daveth called, spinning to dodge an attack, reciprocating with a killing strike. 

Azry grimaced, but did not attempt to retort, as pissed as she was at his continued blatant racism. She channeled it into her next attack, ducking and weaving through the last darkspawn's attacks, and struck at its knees. It fell like the one before, and Azry quickly drove her swords through its skull. As it fell, it nearly took her swords with it, and only a strong tug on them, combined with her foot braced on the thing's chest, managed to free them. She stumbled back slightly, trying to regain her balance. 

Once her feet were steadied, she turned back to see the last two taken down by Alistair and Daveth, Jory acting as bait. She saw the last two darkspawn fall, and the energy left her body in one swift motion, and she crouched down, breathing in deep and trying to hold back the urge to vomit. She tossed her swords to one side, they landed haphazardly next to the bodies she had felled.

“You all right there, knifey?” called Daveth.

“She's already said she doesn't like that name, so stop calling her that, Daveth,” said Alistair. 

Azry looked up in pure shock of hearing a human defend her. Part of her was angry that he would assume she needed his help, but mostly her continued fright left her without her usual anger. She was thrown so out of balance by the appearance of these creatures, and the fact that it would soon be her job to be the first line of defence against them made her stomach roll once again. She wondered if it would be worth drinking a potion to set her a little to rights. 

Daveth had shrugged at Alistair's words, and turned to Jory, whose face was white as snow. Azry was pleased that he seemed to be worse off than her. She didn't know how Daveth could be so casual. She'd never seen anything so purely wrong in her entire life. She dropped her head back down, and continued to take deep, steadying breaths until she felt she could stand. When she did, she noticed Alistair keeping one eye on her, his brow furrowing in what looked like worry. 

“I'm fine,” she said shortly, which quickly wiped the worry from Alistair's face. He began to look a lot more sheepish, as if he was a naughty child who'd been caught spying. 

“It's not pleasant, facing your first darkspawn. They're not the nicest looking creatures in Thedas,” Alistair said, his tone light and jovial. Azry had to withhold the urge to smack him. 

“I've fought uglier guys in bars all over Fereldan. Harder to kill than this lot,” Daveth quipped, smirking his way through the whole sentence. 

“Were they as irritating as you?” Azry fired back, internally wincing at how weak her voice sounded. 

Daveth laughed heartily, giving her the biggest grin she'd seen from him yet. The urge to vomit once again rose in her. She turned back to Alistair, who was walking nearer to her and taking out three small glass vials from his pack. He gave her a searching look, as if making sure that she really was fine. She gave him a withering look, that for some reason made him crack a smile. He passed her a vial, and motioned at the two men to catch up. 

“Your kills were cleaner than ours, we'll have to use these two,” Alistair said, looking at the darkspawn she downed with an approving eye. 

“Use them for what?” Azry questioned, now confused and shaky. She'd find a way to regain her feared warrior status once she didn't feel like she was about to fall over. The look Alistair gave her was as confused as she felt. 

“For-for the Joining. I thought I'd-” Alistair said, his voice very unsure. He trailed off and looked behind him to Daveth and Jory as if for confirmation that he had told them his purpose. Daveth shrugged, but Jory was still staring at the fallen monsters as if he was hoping he was about to wake up. Alistair swore violently, which made Azry jump. “I get given a proper job, something to make myself seem reliable as a Warden and I've messed up at least four times already. All right, proper explanation now,” he said, sounding very worn out. 

Azry would've felt sorry for him if she wasn't as worn out by his ineptitude as he seemed to be. The only really useful thing he'd contributed to this apparently important mission was sensing those darkspawn. She was rather keen to find out how he did that, despite herself. 

Alistair handed out the vials first, before he launched into the explanation they were apparently already supposed to be given. “So, to fully become a Grey Warden, you have to go through a ritual we call the Joining. It gives you the ability to sense the darkspawn, and your fellow Wardens. It does work both ways however, and the darkspawn can sense us too. This can sometimes be in our favour, however. So for the Joining, each new recruit is taken to an area where they can seek out darkspawn, so that a vial of their blood can be drawn,” Alistair said, gesturing to the small vials they each now held. Azry held hers up, frowning at it. 

“Why do we need their blood?” Daveth asked, sounding unsure of himself, as if he didn't really want to know the answer. Azry couldn't help but feel concerned by this. 

Alistair regarded their pensive faces for a moment, before grimacing slightly. “Well, it's part of your Joining. You each need a vial so that you can place it in a potion made of other ingredients,” he said, but it definitely sounded like he was skirting around something else. Azry met his eyes purposefully, giving him a searching look, like the one he had given her previously. 

However, it was Jory that figured it out before Alistair could explain any further. “We drink it. We drink it, don't we?” He said, sounding near hysterical. “We drink the blood of that scum so that we can fight them. No matter that any man can fight them, we have to poison our bodies for the right to it!” 

“Jory! Calm the fuck down, mate. We aren't exactly protected here,” Daveth snapped at the knight. 

Azry and Alistair both turned surprised looks on him, Azry unable to believe that Daveth was capable of getting snappish without a smirk or grin. Jory looked twice as shocked, but sadly Daveth's words did not do much to calm his skittish movements. 

Daveth looked back over to Alistair, his eyes rather worried. “We do have to drink it though, don't we?”

Alistair nodded. “The darkspawn blood is the final part of the potion. We make it a ritual for the blood to come from a darkspawn that the recruit has killed, however.” 

Daveth nodded. He looked over his shoulder at the one he had killed himself. “In that case, I'll take my blood from this one. I felled it with no help, I'd like to reap my reward,” he said with cheer.

It was a disturbingly fast change, but Azry could see the uncertainty in his eyes. She wondered how much of that cheer was his own bravado. Daveth gathered up Jory and walked back over to the three darkspawn grouped together, while Alistair gestured for Azry to walk to her own. She looked once more at Daveth's retreating back, before turning to Alistair. 

He showed her how to neatly slice the skin nearest to the heart so that the blood would well in a long line, making it easier to pour into her little vial. Being so close to the creature was not a pleasant experience. The smell alone made Azry want to retch and the thought that she would be fighting an entire army of them in two days was not a comforting thought. 

“What are they really? They look almost human,” Azry asked, while waiting for the blood to trickle into the vial. 

Alistair swallowed, clearly unsure if he wanted to reveal this information. Azry didn't press him any more, she was too drained to do much more than sit and wait. 

“These ones are called hurlocks. They're called that because they are, in fact, human,” he said. Azry's whole body lit up with the pure horror of that information.The look on her face set Alistair stammering through the rest of his explanation. “Not really! They aren't entirely human, they just have a human... foundation, I guess is the best way to put it.”

“So, this is what you'll become? If a human gets turned into a darkspawn?” Azry asked, still rather confused by what he meant and horrified by what it could mean for her own people. 

Alistair shook his head quite vehemently, looking appalled with himself. “Honestly, I'm terrible at explaining this. Look to me for a inappropriate comment or a witty remark and I'm fine, but explaining things seems to trip me up. You can't turn into a darkspawn, they're born. Just like you and me. Only, they're born in a very different manner and have no consciousness of what they are or who they are. All they know is serving the archdemon or killing everything that isn't a darkspawn. Hurlocks are just named so for their human-like appearance,” he said and that finally cleared up most of Azry's confusion. 

She looked back at the grossly misshapen face and tried to pick out the human features. “Apart from the two arms and legs thing, there isn't much human about this thing,” she said. 

Alistair made no reply. Silence fell between them for a moment and Azry watched the blood drip into her vial. The slightly blackened red of it streaking down the inside of the glass. It was diseased blood and the thought of having to ingest it made her feel not only ill, but wrong in a way that she couldn't quite explain. It was with a jolt that she realised that Mahariel would've had to do this too, kill a darkspawn and drink its blood. She was so young, and surrounded by humans who disrespected her culture. No wonder she was distrustful and silent. Anyone who had done this would've been excused from doing the same. 

It was a while before the vial was even half full and it was a few moments after that when Alistair spoke again. “There are other kinds. Of darkspawn, I mean,” he said, looking at Azry as if asking permission to continue. She was curious about the creatures, so she nodded and he looked oddly grateful. Maybe talking is what helped him deal with his own horror. “Genlocks are dwarf-like creatures and I'm pretty sure Duncan said that ogres were qunari,” he said, but stopped when Azry frowned. 

“Qunari? The giant horned men from Se...Se-something?” she asked, the name of their home on the tip of her tongue. Her father had told her about them, about their strict religion, the Qun, as if warning her against them. Remembering her father made her stomach jolt uncomfortably, so she stopped her mind wandering down that particular path. She didn't want those images in her head just now, when she was crouched over the body of a different kind of monster she'd killed.

“Yeah, hence why the ogres are a little more difficult to kill,” Alistair said. He went silent again and Azry could not help but notice the omission of what her own people turned into. It was quite egotistical to think that her own people could not be corrupted the way the others could, so she turned a questioning look on Alistair, who was staring rather pointedly at her three-quarter filled vial. 

“And my people? What are their darkspawn called?” she asked, impressed with how she managed to keep the note of dread from her voice. 

Alistair's expression was sad and she swallowed down her fierce pride for one moment, though she could barely stand the looks of sympathy. She was older than him, she didn't need his patronizing topic-avoiding. 

“I haven't yet seen one. I've heard them be called shrieks,” he replied. 

She looked away from him, the word swimming through her mind almost threateningly. Shrieks. The very word implied something terrible and judging from how warped a human the hurlocks looked, she was certain that the elven darkspawn would horrify her even more than these twisted creatures did. She didn't think that she'd ever be ready to see her own people so wrong in the same way that these were. 

Her vial was filled a few moments after the silence lapsed between Azry and the boy Warden and she stoppered it with a cork he offered her. Alistair then went over to check on the other recruits, while Azry stood and stretched. Her nerves had calmed somewhat, even after spending so much time crouched over a nightmare. She took the few moments that she had to herself to look around her surroundings, at the recent battle scars and the layout of the swampy, uneven terrain. She was lucky the darkspawn had attacked them on a harder surface, her greaves and sabatons already had enough mud on them. She wiped her swords carefully on the grass, after retrieving them from where she had dropped them by the body, and re-sheathed them. The vial she carefully placed in a concealed pocket of her pouch, making sure that it wouldn't clink against the potions she had in there. She saw Alistair motioning her over and after taking a last scan behind her, she walked over to the men, noticing the watchful eyes of a wolf on the edges of the clearing. 

It was certainly an odd looking wolf, with very dark, intelligent eyes and a thinner coat than it should have this far south, not that she was an expert on animals, being city born. It watched her cross to Alistair and the others, as if calculating her actions, before it turned and trotted back into the forest, the weak strains of sunlight glittering on its fur, which came off as oddly purple. 

Shaking the image from her head, she fell into step beside Alistair, who she had decided she could stand the most between the choices she had and blocked out Daveth's constant prattle. It was as if he'd decided that his limited silence needed to be made up for. Jory, thankfully, was silent. No doubt he was regretting his decision to become a Warden. Azry was regretting his decision too. There was probably someone much more capable of not being a prat that could take his place. 

In the end, just ignoring Daveth wasn't quite enough to drown him out, so Azry decided to ask Alistair about Mahariel. Duncan's evasiveness about her questions had been rather frustrating and she doubted she could get Mahariel herself to open up to her. Azry wasn't even sure where the girl was now, even if she were to try and ask her. Alistair seemed a little more relaxed than he had earlier, which Azry took to be a good sign that there weren't any darkspawn nearby.

“Does every Grey Warden do this?” Azry asked, opting for a general question to lull him into a sense to safety. 

Alistair nodded, and then gave her a half smile. “Having difficulty imagining me doing this, huh?” He asked and Azry was surprised to find that she hadn't even doubted that he could do it for a moment. She was rather thrown by this, but then again, Alistair was proving to be the only exception to how humans behaved towards her. 

“Having difficulty imaging Mahariel, actually. Duncan said she was injured or something before she became a Warden, and she's just so young. No matter how talented she is-” Azry began, but Alistair cut her off.

“Young? What do you mean, young? She's about my age, isn't she?” He asked, sounding utterly confused. 

Azry frowned at him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.” 

“She's definitely not twenty, I can tell that much. I'd put her at about fifteen, maybe sixteen years old,” she said, her tone unavoidably condescending. Apparently aging slower than humans makes them appear older to the rather dim witted. 

Alistair looked almost appalled. “Fifteen? Maker, I wouldn't have even- wait, if she's fifteen and you look kinda the same age, how old are you?” He asked, almost accusatory. 

Azry laughed. “I can't believe you think I'm the same age as her, she's a baby!” she replied, still laughing at the look on his face. He pressed her again for an answer, and she grinned. “I'm twenty four. Older than her and you.” 

Alistair looked completely floored. “I literally would never have guessed. I'm not good at telling ages, then, am I?” 

His complete befuddlement was quite the balm on Azry's rather frazzled state. Nothing like confusing a human with elven physiology to cover up the fact that she needed badly to lie down and recover from her shocks and also have the chance to finally heal her head. 

She turned to reply to Alistair, when a pained moan erupted from a clump of bushes on the other side of a lake to their left. Alistair frowned in the direction of the sound, his eyes taking on that same far away look that they had before when he had been sensing the darkspawn. Azry's heart quickened in its pace and in her mind's eye she could see more of them staggering into view. 

“It's not darkspawn,” Alistair said after a moment and his voice was wonderment. 

Azry took that as a sign that she was safe enough to explore it and walked toward the small lake, ignoring Alistair's cries of protest and Daveth's calls for her to come back. If something was hurt, she wanted to see what it was and what made it. She heard Daveth swear and his armour clank as he jogged to catch up to her, and soon after Alistair and Jory catch up. 

They were nearly beside her when Azry could see what made the pitiful noise. It was made renewed whimpers when it saw her.

“It's a dog! It's hurt pretty bad,” Azry called back to the others, before she jogged up to the wounded animal and had to make a retraction in her head of her own statement. It was a dog in shape, yes, but massive. Easily as big as the ones at the gate. Standing, it could've easily been the same height as Azry. Elves were smaller in stature than humans though, so there was a chance it would just be big to her. 

Nevertheless, the dog was clearly distressed and Azry could immediately see why. Something large had made a huge cut along its back and it was bleeding profusely into the long, tawny fur. The dog had apparently been bleeding for a while, judging by the matted fur. She knelt beside it and let it sniff her hand. Once it had given her a half-hearted lick of approval, she took a closer look at the wound. Her left hand deep in the fur on its neck, scratching it softly to keep it calm. The wound was deep, but not fatally so. It was the festering blackened edges of the wound that was more troubling. 

“That's not a bloody dog, that's a mabari,” Daveth said behind her and she looked over her shoulder just long enough to give him a withering look. He actually took a step away from her, his face showing his uncertainty at approaching any further. She took that as a victory and turned back to the dog, or mabari, apparently. 

“He's not wrong. that's a war dog. He must've belonged to one of the scouts,” Alistair said, kneeling next to Azry. 

She watched him inspect the wound and he must've drawn the same conclusions she had, as he lightly touched the infected wound. The mabari let out another pitiful howl and Azry murmured to it, trying to calm it, and stroked along its side. It's eyes were completely desolate, and yet, the way it looked at her was oddly familiar. It seemed to recognise her as well and slightly inclined its head to her. She gasped. 

“It's one of the gate guard's dogs. This could've only happened a few minutes ago,” Azry said, running a hand up to the mabari's face, watching and despairing at the way its, his, eyes fluttered closed. “We've got to help him,” she insisted, getting a hand underneath his head to lift it slightly. Alistair agreed with her and pulled out bandages from his pack.

“It's a dog! We're not seriously going to risk dying over a dog?” Daveth said, rather cuttingly, and Azry scoffed.

“I thought it wasn't a dog, but a mabari,” she replied, parroting his earlier words. His sigh was like music to her. His irritation at her matter-of-fact tone was the milder version of her reaction to his nicknames for her. To her surprise, however, he bent down on her left and wriggled his hands under the mabari's head. 

“Get over the other side and we should be able to all carry him once Ally's bandaged him,” Daveth said, sounding rather put out. 

Azry smirked at him and was almost tempted to ignore his instructions just to rub it in a bit further, but she genuinely wanted to get the mabari back into camp and safe. She helped Alistair bandage the wound, first cutting away the fur that had matted the most, then using one of Alistair's empty vials, she it filled with water and the end of her belt to clean the edges of the wound as best she could, before they wrapped the length of the wound up with the bandages and tied it under the mabari's belly. 

Through it all Jory had remained silent, but when Alistair and Azry began slowly lifting the mabari, Alistair taking most of the weight and Daveth holding his head gingerly, he spoke. “First you don't tell us why we're out in the middle of the Wilds hunting demented creatures. Then I find out that we have to drink the blood of those diseased things, and now you are wasting bandages on a poxy dog? What kind of a warrior order are you?” Jory said, his voice high and panicked and his face screwed up with rage and his hands shaking. 

Azry did not even bother looking at him, keeping her eyes trained on the mabari's face for any signs of pain. Daveth also made no reply, but he did cup the mabari's head a little closer. 

“Jory, I suggest you get the idea of the Wardens being a noble warrior order out of your head as soon as possible, so that you aren't disappointed. Duncan must've seen something in you to make him want to recruit you, but right now, I cannot see a single thing that would endear you to me if I were in his shoes,” Alistair said, his tone final. Azry didn't bother to hide her grin.

They made their slow way around the lake and back to the main camp, with Jory following quite some distance behind.

\--

After a lengthy conversation with the mabari keeper, mostly where he congratulated them on their care, the two rejoined the other recruits and Alistair led them back to the Grey Warden tents. Azry looked back at the mabari, who was now being fed some concoction designed to stop the infection, and her eyes met the mabari's. He looked so grateful that it shone in his dark eyes and Azry smiled back at him. Her fears that the mabari would not survive were now settled and she could concentrate on the impending Joining. 

She'd not yet really come to terms with the idea that she would have to drink the darkspawn blood and could only hope that the other ingredients would do something to hide the taste or look or even just trick her into thinking she was drinking wine. 

Alistair held open the flap of the tent for them and slipped in after Azry. Jory had hurried in first, already stripping his armour off, his hands shaking. Daveth strolled almost leisurely over to where Jory was piling his armour and began unstrapping his own. Azry noticed they were standing over two bedrolls, neatly laid out and each with a few personal items piled next to them. Daveth had a few books, surprisingly. 

“Did you need a hand?” Alistair asked her, and it took Azry a moment to realise he meant with her armour. 

“Ah, yes, actually. Unless we'll be needed later?” Azry replied, eventually, after remembering how difficult the straps would be to take off on her own. She'd figure out how to take it off on her own once she wasn't in the middle of a battle ground. 

“No. Duncan won't be back for some time yet. He doesn't want to Join you all until tomorrow morning anyway. It's better you get some rest, you especially,” Alistair said, not unkindly. 

Azry could help but agree with him. Her head was beginning to throb again and she didn't want to use her potions unless she was actually doing something. Alistair helped her slide off her sword sheathes and unfasten her breastplate and then she did the same for him. His armour wasn't as heavy as it looked. After that, she took off the remainder of her armour and stacked it as neatly as she could, but retied her belt around her waist. Mahariel's chainmail was folded as neatly as possible and stored underneath the rest of the armour for protection. Her swords she left in their sheaths and Alistair helped her find an empty bed roll she could use. A few Wardens came into the tent as Azry lay out on her bed. They were all human, disappointingly, and male, which was also disappointing, but they just nodded at her when they came in and after that, paid her no mind. 

Alistair sat down beside her. “They won't bother you. Neither will anyone else. Women in the army are just as respected as the men,” he whispered quietly to her. 

She looked at him, unable to really discern what he was trying to say. His gaze lingered on her swollen eye for a moment and then she sighed. 

“They wouldn't have been a problem even if they didn't respect women. They would learn from me to do so, or go the same way as everyone else who didn't,” she said, but her voice was not threatening. She was tired, to the bone, and she didn't need to make an idle threat. 

Alistair, to her surprise, smiled widely. “Considering what you could do with your face beat in, I can't wait to see what you can do fully healed up.” 

Azry was smiling at him before she could stop herself. 

“What? What could she do with her face beat in?” Jory asked, and Azry looked up to find him standing over her. His face was like a bad attempt at intimidation, as whatever he was trying to do with his face made him look like he was ready to flinch whenever she moved. 

“None of your concern. Yet,” Azry muttered, turning onto her side. 

Suddenly, there was a hand around her arm, yanking her upright onto her feet and the movement was so harsh that her head throbbed and her world grew dizzy. Yet even through her dizziness, she could still feel that pure, white fury coursing through her as she smacked Jory right across his face before he could even speak. His hand dropped as he gasped and he backed away. Azry found her hand ghosting over her dagger. 

“You're nothing more than an animal! An animal! I won't be a Grey Warden if this is the kind of rabble that they accept!” Jory shrieked and the other Wardens in the tent did not even look up. Azry wondered if there was a Jory within every batch of recruits. 

“You can't back out, Ser Jory, you made a commitment,” Alistair said, getting up to stand behind Azry. Jory's face became even more screwed up, and Azry imagined just falling in on itself, in and in and in until there was nothing left of the man at all. 

“Then I have a right to know what kind of criminal I will be fighting alongside! She's vicious, uncontrolled and if I have sleep with one eye open I want to know now!” He yelled, completely hysterical at this point. 

Daveth had laughed on the word criminal. Azry couldn't feel anything other than rage, but refused to become as hysterical as Jory. She refused to give him what he wanted. Instead she sauntered up to him and when he tried to step away from her, she pulled him back with the same vice-like grip that he had pulled her up with.

“You really want to know, Ser Knight? Well, first of all, on my wedding day, a noble man came into my home and stole me and other women including my cousin and a twelve year old for the purpose of raping us and then throwing us back into the Alienage akin to the way you would throw trash into a gutter. I tried to fight them off without any armour or weapons. I was beaten and forced to watch helplessly as they were dragged away. Once I had regained enough consciousness, I killed my way to that noble man with my cousin's twin and found that they had also killed my fiance. I proceeded then to kill most of the household guard and when I finally got to that noble man's room, I murdered him, his two friends and freed my elven sisters. When I returned bloodied and beaten to my home, Duncan recruited me so that I wouldn't be killed for punishing a man for ruining the lives of those girls, crimes he would not be punished for.” 

Tears fought their way to her eyes, bile grew thick in her throat and every memory of pain exploded in her mind, and even so, her voice was even and full of steel. 

The tent was silent and Azry could feel even the eyes of the other Wardens on her, but she didn't tear her eyes away from Jory's. They were filled with terror, and it was a terror that she should be to him. He was just another Vaughn, someone who thought they could take what they wanted and still believe that the world owed them more. 

He whimpered, an escaped sound through his tightly pressed lips and Azry was too disgusted to touch him for a moment longer. She let go of his arm and shoved him to the ground. He landed in a messy sprawl, already crawling back from her. 

“What kind of criminal do you think you're fighting alongside?” She asked, proud of the way her voice held firm. She turned from him, ignoring his sounds of protests and the whispers of the Wardens and lay back down on her bedroll. She heard Alistair sit next to her, but didn't acknowledge him. If he heard her soft sobs, he said nothing, and Azry was grateful for the first time to a human. She was grateful that he pretended she wasn't grieving, so she accepted that she didn't hate him.

\--

“Adaia. Adaia, wake up. I'm sorry, but we have to go now,” Alistair's voice murmured and she emerged from the blackness of sleep to feel his hand gently shaking her awake. 

Blearily, she opened her eyes, and the young Warden's face came into view. She noticed that his eyes were a very dark brown, and that his face shape was oddly familiar. Cailan, the stupid king who had been so shocked by her casual revelation of murder, came into her mind.

“Has anyone told you that you look like the King?” Azry said, rather sleepily. An expression flickered across Alistair's face that Azry in her sleepy state could not define. 

“Fereldan's population is small, so human boys only get a choice of a few different facial characteristics, and he and I apparently were given the same ones, can we please go now?” Alistair said, his tone tired but amused.

Azry sobered up enough to see that Daveth's head was poking into the tent, watching them, and that there were a lot of other Wardens sleeping around them. 

“Yes, yes, of course. What's wrong?” Azry whispered, standing up slowly, wincing as her muscles ached. Her head felt a little better, so she no longer felt like she needed the potions just to get through. 

“Duncan got word from the scouts. The horde is coming in under six hours, we need to start the Joining now,” Alistair replied.

His words hit Azry's gut like a punch. Her whole body clammed up as her heart beat sped so much that she could barely feel anything except her own pulse. She took a deep breath in and decided to pretend that she was fine. She grabbed her pouch from the pile of her belongings and straightened out her tunic. She felt oddly underdressed for the Joining, but she pushed that thought aside and followed Alistair out of the tent. 

Daveth fell into step beside them and Azry could see Jory a little ways ahead of them, talking with Duncan. Normally she would've paid more attention to that, but the huge silver goblet that Duncan was cradling took up all of her attention. In there, no doubt, contained the potion that she would add her darkspawn blood to. That she would drink from and become a Warden. 

More than anything, she wished her family could be here. Her father would be full of stories about great Wardens, Shianni would fuss over her messy braid that hadn't been washed or redone since her flight from Denerim, Soris would probably analyse everything that the potion could contain and Nelaros-

Nelaros would hold her hand and tell her she was braver than anyone.

Even thinking those words in his voice calmed Azry. She could feel her heart slowing down, and while her fear still buried itself deep in her gut, she was able to clear her mind a little more, process things a little better. She made her pace a little faster and smoothed her hair on her head. Shianni would be disappointed, but it'd have to do. 

She didn't attempt to talk and neither did Daveth or Alistair. Alistair kept shooting them looks that were part hopeful and part despair, which made Azry's heart rate pick up again, but she chose very deliberately not to read into it. There were plenty of torches lit around the camp, and from how far in the sky the moon was, Azry made a guess that it was probably the middle of the night. Even the mabari stalls were quiet. 

Duncan and Jory began walking up into a crumbled tower, the roof open to the night sky, and a large table placed against a wall. Alistair followed, Azry close behind, and Daveth brought up the rear. Azry looked around the room. She could see where stairs had once wrapped around the inside, the holes in the walls were square shaped and in some places there was still wood, though it was rotted well past use. It was well-lit by iron sconces that were mounted on the walls, and there was also a fire burning on the other side of the room from the door. Duncan had placed the silver goblet on the table and Alistair went over beside him and whispered something in his ear. Duncan glanced at Azry, who tried very hard not to look away before he did, and sighed in relief when he simply nodded at her and whispered something back to Alistair. 

Daveth caught her eye and winked, but it was so half-hearted and his face was so full of fear that Azry just rolled her eyes. She didn't want to think about how much fear was on hers. 

Duncan coughed, and immediately had the attention of all of the recruits. “Daveth, Adaia and Jory. I'm sorry to pull you from bed this early, but I didn't want to leave the Joining any later, now that the horde has advanced quicker than we expected,” he began and gestured at the goblet, “as you may have guessed, in here contains the potion that will turn you into a Grey Warden. I know Alistair has told you that the change will be painful, and it will. It will be more painful than you might want to believe.” 

Duncan turned back to give some sort of look to Alistair, who nodded back at him. Azry let her mind move away from her fear for a moment to speculate that when she became a Grey Warden she'd learn all these tiny secret signals. Duncan's face suddenly turned grave. Azry's heart lurched in her chest and her stomach turned to stone. 

“The reason the ritual of the Joining is such a closely guarded secret is indeed because of the darkspawn blood. It is a barbaric way to make any warrior, but sadly a necessary part of becoming a Warden. The other reason is because there is a chance, and not a small one, that you will not survive the process,” Duncan finished, and that is when Azry felt as if the floor had given way beneath her entirely. 

She was free falling into complete nothingness, the total uncertainty of everything that she could've done up to this point to prolong her life could in fact be for nothing. Escaping death by the guards only to die here, away from her family? Not in battle but in preparation? No brave words or imagined voices could convince her to breathe easy now. Duncan had taken from her a choice to die on her feet or from poison that she helped create. She turned away from Duncan, and walked over to wall, choking on her own breath. Wouldn't that be a wonderful way to go? Choking on air before she could choke on blood. 

“I was gonna die anyway, Duncan. You knew that. I'm ready for to have a chance to be a little more than what you found me,” Daveth said and his voice sounded so sure and so confident that Azry's breathing evened out as she looked at him. 

Yes, there was still fear on his face, glittering in his eyes, but he wasn't pretending. He wasn't faking how sure he was. He was ready to put his life on the line for the chance to be something better. 

Azry felt utterly ashamed that she had nearly broken down where Daveth had stood tall. She could see his vial gripped in his hand and took in a deep breath, straightening back up. She dug through the pouch she'd brought for her own vial and once she put the pouch down against the wall, she stood next to Daveth, willing her knees to stop shaking. She felt an elbow nudge her arm and looked up at Daveth, who gave her a shaky grin. She nodded, smiling softly. They both looked back to Duncan, who looked utterly relieved. Alistair's face was still that mix of optimism and desolation and for some reason it hurt Azry to see his eyes so downcast. She didn't want to think about it, since there was a high possibility she would be dying soon, so she looked away. 

“Daveth, Adaia, bring your vials up to the goblet and empty them in. When you're ready, Jory, do the same,” Duncan said, stepping to the side so that Daveth and Azry could walk up, unimpeded. 

Daveth took the first step and Azry followed, gripping her vial a little tighter to hide the shaking of her hands. She watched Daveth uncork his vial and pour the sickly substance into the goblet. There was no poof of smoke, hiss or foul smell, which reassured Azry somewhat. Daveth stepped away and then Azry was uncorking her own vial and standing on her toes to see into the goblet. The blood Daveth had poured in was invisible in the black liquid that half filled the silver goblet. Up close, Azry could see it was decorated with engraving of griffons, like the one on Duncan's armour, in fact looking over at it now, the cup that was being held by the two griffons was very similar to the one she now stood in front of. The drop of liquid above it now held meaning to her and she once again took in a deep breath and tipped her vial in. The blood disappeared into the black potion and she tried to ignore the swirling of panic in her stomach. She was not backing out now. 

Azry looked over at Daveth, mentally berating herself for needing him to nod his approval, if only to soothe her nerves a little, but found him staring at where Jory was standing with a fair bit of panic in his eyes. Azry spun to look at the knight herself and was shocked to see him holding a bit of iron like a sword and pointing it at Duncan. He must've picked it up while she and Daveth were emptying their vials and now he was edging his way along the wall, brandishing it at Duncan.

“I have a pregnant wife in Highever, you can't ask me to do this,” Jory said, his voice panicked and his eyes crazy with fear. Azry took a step back away from him, pulling Daveth back to do the same. 

“I am sorry, Jory, but you cannot avoid doing this and living,” Duncan said gravely and Azry felt her knees wobble at his words. 

She heard the sound of a sword unsheathing and watched as Duncan strode slowly to Jory, who began screaming at him to keep his distance. Duncan's face was a picture of remorse, even as he advanced on Jory. 

Azry watched as Jory backed himself into a corner, still waving that bit of iron, still trying to keep Duncan away from him. Duncan's sword blocked the clumsy strikes and a swipe to the left sent it clattering away. She did not think she would've known that he had killed Jory if his screams had not cut off so suddenly and the flailing limbs she could see around Duncan's well-armoured silhouette fell to the ground, not even twitching. 

There were tears in Duncan's eyes when he turned from Jory's body. Azry watched the red strain blossom from Jory's chest, darkening the fine white linen of his tunic. She only now could see the thin gold band he wore on a chain. Her chest constricted a little and she lightly touched her own wedding ring, still hanging from her belt. She was surprised to see tears running from Daveth's eyes. She didn't think that he and Jory had even been that close. She turned away from Jory's body, unable to look at it anymore without it turning into someone that she had lost. 

Duncan, having sheathed his sword, was beginning to compose himself. “The Joining is a closely guarded secret, and though it pains me, I must do everything I can to keep it truly secret. Jory was a good knight, but his fear drove him to madness,” Duncan said and Azry truly believed he mourned the life he felt he had to take. 

Alistair put a hand on his mentor's shoulder and Duncan smiled at him. The Warden then turned back to Daveth and Azry, and his demeanor returned to how it had been before Jory had-

It didn't matter now. Azry turned her mind very forcefully away from the body in the corner.

“If you survive the Joining, you will become immune to the Taint, the sickness that everyone gets upon coming into contact with the darkspawn. You will also be able to sense them. You are also the only ones that can defeat the archdemon, though with any luck you will not ever have to face it,” Duncan said, before motioning to Alistair. 

He stepped forward and his eyes met Azry's. He looked so, well, he looked the way that she felt. Her nerves and fears and yet even her numbness were caught up in every flicker of emotion on Alistair's face and she couldn't find a way to come to terms with having him mirror her so effortlessly. Duncan began to speak again, interrupting Azry's inner turmoil. She really should be concentrating on the Joining, she reminded herself, and yet could not look away from Alistair.

“There are words spoken before each Joining, words that have been said since the first Joining ever performed. Alistair, would you do the honour?” Duncan asked and Alistair nodded deeply. 

Alistair bowed his head, Duncan doing the same. Azry copied the motion and she found keeping her eyes firmly on the ground helped her to centre herself again.

Alistair's voice soothed her more than she would ever admit to anyone, even if the words were a little meaningless to her. 

“Join us brothers and sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  
Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.  
And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.  
And that one day we shall join you.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” Duncan said, and Alistair stepped back. Azry could feel his eyes searching out hers, but she kept her own firmly on Daveth. His bravado was stripped away, and she could see how terrified he was. That didn't stop him from stepping forward and accepting the cup from Duncan. He stared into the depths as if he was seeing his future spill out in front of him. “From this moment, Daveth, you are a Grey Warden,” Duncan said. 

Daveth nodded, and made like he was about to drink, Azry held her breath when the cup touched his lips, but he lowered it. 

“Might I say something before?” Daveth asked and Duncan nodded. To her surprise, Daveth turned to look at Azry, his eyes sorrowful. “About the names, I'm sorry. Really. I'm trash from the streets of Denerim and I never meant a word of what I said. You're the bravest person I've ever met,” he said, and his words were fueled with remorse and Azry softened a little. 

“I was hoping you could be more creative than 'knifey',” she quipped and wasn't even a little ashamed at how shaky her voice was. 

The relief on Daveth's face was enough to make it okay for now. If he survived, she'd come clean and tell him how she truly felt about the nicknames, but she wasn't cruel enough to not grant him a small reprieve in case he died. 

She watched with bated breath as the goblet touched his lips and then every pained grimace as he swallowed huge gulps of the potion. Duncan took the goblet from him, placing it back on the table. Daveth coughed a few times, and sounded like he was struggling a little for air, but neither Duncan or Alistair looked concerned, so Azry let the breath she had been holding out. 

Daveth bent over double the very next moment and vomited blood. Duncan's face drained of colour and Alistair moved forward to catch Daveth as he fell. Azry watched in horror as Daveth seized, his eyes white, his body jerking, and blood-

Oh Maker, there was blood pouring from his mouth, his nose, even his eyes. It rolled down his face like tears as he gasped for air. He coughed, loud hacking noises, blood spraying everywhere. Azry felt droplets of it hit her face, but it was as if she was feeling it from afar. Nothing could ever distract her from watching Daveth choke on his own blood, be blinded by it, struggling in Alistair's arms.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Daveth went slack, his head lolling to one side. His eyes were still devoid of colour, except for the blood that still trickled from them. Alistair gently closed his eyelids, and lay him on the floor. There was blood smeared across his grey tunic now. 

“I am so sorry, Daveth,” Duncan said softly, but Azry heard it as if she was standing far above him. 

The words had no meaning while Azry could see the very death that she was promised. She stood between her three paths, the only three ways open to her, and all three of them were covered in blood. 

Her whole body felt cold, as if she was the one who had lost all that blood. There was still some of his blood on her face. She couldn't bring herself to wipe it off, couldn't bring herself to do anything than keep breathing. Whole days could've passed without her knowing, she didn't even care about the passage of time when Daveth's body was lying there, covered in blood, his own blood that had dribbled from his nose and poured from his mouth. She'd once heard a story about a man who could cry blood and now she had seen it, in front of her, but it wasn't a trick, it was Daveth's own life pulled from his body and he-

He wanted this. He had wanted to be better and she-

“Adaia,” Duncan repeated and Azry looked up at him. He was holding the goblet, and his face was very grave. He doesn't want to have to kill someone else, she realised. His eyes were begging her to take it and yet she couldn't move. She looked back down at Daveth, turned behind to look at Jory, and finally at Alistair. 

His brown eyes were bright with fear. She had the sudden urge to ask him what he feared so much about her dying, and she knew that was what he feared because what else could he fear in that moment? There was no other life at risk here but her own. 

“Adaia, please. There isn't much time, and it takes a few hours at the least to recover from,” Duncan was saying, but all Azry could think was that he was so sure she would survive. Did he think Daveth would survive? Was he that sure about Jory? How many other recruits had he seen choke and seize, watched as blood flowed from nostrils and tear ducts?

Duncan took a step towards her, and then another when she didn't move. Alistair followed, his eyes so full of fear. So much fear for someone he barely knew. Azry wanted to hear the quips he was so proud of, she realised. She wanted to know why being a Grey Warden was so important to him. She wanted to know more about them. 

She wanted to see Mahariel again. Wanted to see her shoot something as accurately as she did those guards. 

She wanted the chance to see her family again.

The goblet was cool beneath her fingers. She heard Duncan's sigh of relief, but didn't react to it. She heard Alistair move behind her, ready to catch her when she fell. She gripped the goblet a little tighter.

“From this moment, Adaia, you are a Grey Warden,” Duncan said and Azry tipped the potion to her mouth and began to swallow as much as she could.

It was foul. It tasted like copper and burnt meat and utter wrongness. She could barely convince herself to swallow it and yet she couldn't stop. Her eyes were screwed up with her determination to take in as much as possible, it physically hurt to keep going, but she did. She drank until her throat clogged up. 

There was a moment, just a brief second, when her throat cleared. In the space it took to take in one breath, she grabbed onto every beautiful thought she could. She thought about her mother and father, about her cousins, watching those bright red heads weave through crowds towards her. Shianni bright with smiles and Soris's arms filled with new books. She thought about the boy behind the counter at the general store, how deep his dimples were. She thought about Valendrian, and the way he looked at the Tree of the People like it was really salvation.

She remembered Nelaros holding her in lazy afternoon light, the sun striping his bare skin with gold.

Time sped back up, her breath left her mouth in a sigh, and then pain exploded along every muscle, throbbed behind her eyes and her vision turned white. She heard the goblet hit the ground, heard Alistair's shout and felt something catch her, but could not think, could not feel or hear beyond that because the screams-

Everything was the screams, the horrible, drawn out screams of mirth, of agony. Azry didn't know if they were coming from her, or if they were inside her head because she could feel every syllable inside of her; it rattled her bones and ripped at her muscles. It scraped its way through her skull and pulled her apart. 

Her chest, her chest was aching, what was going on? The scream, the scream was burrowing itself there, clawing its way into her soul, like she was its home. She needed it out, she needed it out! She needed the scream out of her, it was burning her throat and burrowing into her, oh please, someone please, cut it out, cut it-

\--

“I can't believe she pulled through, I thought she was gone.”

“She's strong. So strong. So much of her people's strength has gone into her. She'll be the best Warden we've had for generations.”

“Her mark is beginning to even out. The veins are drawing back.”

“Take her back to the tent, Alistair. Carry her gently. She's only got a few hours before she'll be fighting.”

“I'll see you at dawn, Duncan.”

“May the Maker go with you, Alistair.”


	6. Dangerous Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been fighting with my sheets   
> And nearly crying in my sleep   
> Yes, I'm battling that well taught gripe   
> The most restraining type   
> You should have racing stripes 
> 
> The way you keep me in pursuit   
> Sharpen the heel of your boot   
> And you press it to my chest and you make me wheeze   
> Then to my knees you do promote me 
> 
> \-- Dangerous Animals, Arctic Monkeys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for how incredibly long this took to come out. I just ran out of motivation for this chapter, I couldn't write it. It was like a block in my mind and so very frustrating!  
> This hasn't been edited properly yet, so please excuse any grammatical errors, I will fix them and re upload when it's done. Thank you so much for your patience!
> 
> I'm on tumblr as teenytabris.tumblr.com if you want updates. I will actually post my mindset there now, rather than just flood my tag with pictures, haha!

Azry felt like she had spilled apart, that every part of her being had turned into grains of sand, carelessly thrown across the ground. She was stretched so thin, so many different parts of her screaming out, all those thoughts fighting and clashing, she couldn't get her mind straight, couldn't find the one thought to drag her back into a whole person.

Somewhere, far off, a creature roared. Every grain of sand that Azry was stretched between turned and looked up, and she felt each one as an individual being. She could feel every thought that had clashed all forming together, the screams no longer wild and loud and over the top of each other, but murmurs, each word in unison. Azry was even more surprised that she could not understand them. Why could she not understand her own thoughts? How did that creature stop the screaming? 

It was then she tried to move, but found that she had no body, only a conciousness stretched out across a horde of darkspawn. They were her screams, they were the grains of sand, and there was so many of them, and Azry could feel every single one, as if they were her own blood. They were still, watchful, and Azry could feel them recognise her presence, could feel the very malice they felt. It was blank and directionless, but their fury was so blinding that Azry felt that she could've been swallowed by it. It was then that every darkspawn, every hurlock and the littler genlocks and even bent and twisted creatures with pointed ears that must've been elves, they all looked up. 

Azry saw what they could see, and felt what they could feel. What they saw was a huge dragon, glittering and dark and all they felt for it was obedience. It was almost an obsession. 

Azry screamed so loudly that she woke herself up, dragging her mind away from the nightmare. Her whole body was tense and sore, she felt sick, her vision was so blurry, she couldn't make sense of what she'd seen and-

“Hey! Hey, it's okay. It's okay, just breathe. The first one is pretty bad, but it gets easier,” said a soothing voice, and she could feel hesitant and warm hands on her back and shoulder. She took the advice and sucked in great lungfuls of air, trying to slow her heartbeat, push the images of all those monsters out of her head, shake off the way they felt inside. Alistair's face swam into view as her eyes cleared, and his expression was utter relief. Azry didn't think too much about that, busy as she was fighting off the urge to throw up and possibly scream. Once her initial panic had worn off, she could feel a deep ache in her chest. She recalled, as if from another dream, the feeling of something digging in over her heart, and pulled down her tunic to check. 

A dark, twisted cluster of veins lay like a bruise where the pain was. She rubbed at it, even though she knew it it wouldn't come off. 

“I survived,” she said, but she couldn't bring up the enthusiasm that was probably appropriate. Alistair smiled at her softly. He hadn't taken his hand from her shoulder, and she didn't want him to. 

“Yeah. You looked rough for a moment, but you got through it. Screamed enough that they heard you back at the camp,” he said, laughing a little. Azry felt like she should smile or something, but she felt so empty of emotion, so drained of all energy. She hadn't stopped rubbing at the cluster of black veins, as if she could wipe away the feeling of something dark latching onto her. Her head throbbed, but it wasn't the same pain that had dogged her since Denerim. It was like having someone else in her brain, giving her feelings of worry and relief and thoughts that she could quite grasp before they slipped away. 

As her mind shook off the nightmare, she became fully aware that she could literally feel Alistair sitting beside her, and not because he was sitting right next to her. She could feel him as if he was in her veins. Her hand paused in her rubbing over her chest. She looked up at him, looked straight into his eyes and he didn't look away. He didn't try to speak, he just let her search him. He must've known what she was looking for, he must've seen the same look before. 

Or felt it before. 

After a few moments of silence, Alistair dropped his hand from her shoulder, and with some difficulty, unbuckled his pauldrons and breastplate. Azry watched him, not sure why he was taking his armour off, or why he was fully armed to being with, but when he managed to remove it, he pulled the neck of his tunic down, showing her his own mark. It wasn't any darker or bigger than hers, it looked exactly the same. 

His skin was paler on his chest. 

Without thinking about it, she placed her hand over his mark. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and wondered if her hands were cold. His skin was warm, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. There was no extra throbbing from the mark, no sense of wrongness on his skin. She stared at her hand, as if questioning what it was feeling. She felt Alistair's heart rate slow, and realised that when she had lain her hand on him, his heart rate had in fact sped up. She looked back into his eyes, and saw softness, and a lot of uncertainty in the dark brown depths. She quickly took her hand away, mentally berating herself. She really must be quite out of it to have done that. 

“Um, are- are you all right to get up? The horde's quite close. Duncan wants to give us orders,” Alistair said, and Azry deliberately ignored the shaky note in his voice. She did not just spend five minutes having a moment with a human boy she met yesterday. Or she did, and she blamed it on the leftover shock. She's had a tough week, she was allowed a few moments of lapsed judgement. Alistair, seemingly shaking off the event faster than she was, buckled his armour back on and stood, organising her pieces.

Azry couldn't remember how she got into the Warden tent again, and took in every empty bedroll fanned out around the edges. She could hear shouting and clanking, the noise of an army hurrying to battle. She wondered how close the horde was, and found the hairs on her arms were rising as a cold chill ran down her spine. She'd not been truly terrified for herself in the longest time.

She tried to stand and winced, her joints were aching and her whole body felt exhausted. Once all this was done, Azry promised herself, she would sleep for a week. She stretched out her arms and rolled her shoulders a few times. It didn't help the soreness, but at least she knew how much it would hurt. Alistair turned back to her, with her breastplate in his hands, and she gratefully accepted his help, first slipping her borrowed chainmail on. Alistair worked quickly with her buckles while she strapped on the pieces for her arms, and while he checked her swords, she buckled her pieces onto her legs. Alistair made sure they were securely fastened, and while Azry would've been greatly insulted previously by the action, she couldn't deny that she was not in any position to guarantee her armour's security. 

Alistair moved to her pack, and pulled out on of her potions, offering it to her. Azry sighed, and knew her face was pulling an expression of complete exhaustion. Alistair looked incredibly apologetic, his expression more sorry than she'd yet seen it. 

“You'll appreciate it later, I promise,” he said, and his voice sounded firm. He was putting stock in his own words. Azry could respect that, nevermind how much she did not want to take the potion. She grabbed it, and frowned at it hoping it would change it into something more appealing. Like a sleeping potion. 

With a swift motion she uncorked the bottled and tipped it against her lips. She could take pleasure in Alistair's look of shock at how quickly she had it to her mouth, but that was quickly taken away as the potion tipped into her mouth, and all she could taste was earth. She swallowed it painfully, trying not to associate it with her painful Joining mere hours ago, but still felt the urge to retch. She kept the potion down, thankfully, and once the bottle was empty, she threw the empty bottle to one side. She coughed a few times, ignoring how wet and pained the sounds were, before she made an effort to swallow all that was left down. 

Alistair held up the leather straps attached to her sword sheathes, and Azry slipped into them, still trying to get the worst of the taste out of her mouth. She could feel energy and wakefulness returning to her, making her feel stronger, but she also hated how it felt second-hand; borrowed. She couldn't wait to have a full night's sleep after this and finally regain her energy without needed potions. 

If she survived this, Azry thought, as Alistair led her from the empty Warden tent and into the bustling camp beyond. There seemed to be a thousand people flowing through, all in various armour, carrying weapons of every kind, mabari trotting beside them with warpaint glistening on freshly shaved backs. Azry could even see a few stern-faced mages, in brightly coloured robes and holding staves decorated with bushels of plants or beautifully intricate carvings. She knew she was gawking as she moved through the camp closely behind Alistair, but she felt that she had a right to, at least now when she could be dying a few hours after cheating death. She'd never seen so many different kinds of warriors. They all wore the same grim expression as Alistair led her through the crowds. 

She jogged to catch up to him, and he gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Azry didn't return it, the nervousness in her gut bringing back a little of her old anger. She ignored the fact it was misplaced the closer they got to the battle field, and Azry could hear every shout and command and war cry. The camp was separated from the massing army by a tall palisade, and while she couldn't see it, she could visualize it quite clearly. The crowd had thinned out as they passed the broken tower where the Joining had taken place, and with a surprising twinge of her heart, Azry wondered if Daveth's body still lay in it. 

They were nearing the bridge that Azry had crossed on her way to the camp the previous day. Had it really only been a day? Azry felt as if years separated her from the person who had arrived here, grieving for home and without the foreign feeling that her skin was not her own. Alistair paused for a moment, and Azry stopped her thoughts to watch the progress of a large force of uniformed soldiers, all wielding shields bearing a crossed green, leafy plant over a blue background. They were being led by a man and a woman, both with flaming red hair. The woman was wielding a huge hammer, and seeing Azry's stare, grinned broadly at her. Azry nodded in return, amazed by the spread of freckles across her face. 

“The Couslands of Highever,” Alistair murmured to her as the soldiers passed. Azry was impressed by how in sync they were, compared to the mad scramble happening around them. The two commanders must keep them strictly in line. Once they'd all filed past and were disappearing out of view, Azry could see where Alistair was leading her. Down a slight slope was the King, and in conference with him was the pale, dour man and Duncan. Standing behind the Warden were a collection of similarly armoured men, all looking tired, but determined. To anyone else, they would've looked like uniformed soldiers, but Azry could feel their presence in her veins, and she could tell they could feel hers too. One of them, a heavily bearded man with a scarred face smiled at her, though his eyes were sad. She inclined her head towards him, not wanting to betray any of the fear their tired faces was beginning to instill in her.

“Alistair, Adaia, thank you for coming so fast,” Duncan said, as the King looked back at the plans spread across the table behind him. Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest and bowed at Duncan, and Duncan returned the gesture. Azry hoped he didn't think she'd do it, because there was no way she was bowing to anyone, never mind how superior in rank they were. Duncan smiled ruefully at her. “I am sorry that you didn't get the rest we hoped you would. Are you feeling well enough?” he asked, and the look he gave her reminded her so much of her father's, the pure, unconditional worry that her stomach gave a painful twist to accompany the pain in her heart. She nodded, swallowing thickly. She didn't quite meet his eyes. 

Duncan turned from her and Alistair then, conferring for a few minutes with the older Wardens. Azry found that her hands were shaking slightly, and the nervousness began to turn into nausea. It felt like- like plain wrongness. In her veins and even sinking into her bones. She'd not felt anything like it before, this nausea was burning through her body. She'd barely noticed Alistair talking to her until he shook her shoulder gently. She started and stared up at him. He looked apologetic, and nodded at her shaking hands.

“You can feel them too, can't you? The darkspawn,” he said, and Azry could see that his hands were shaking a little. His skin did look paler than it had before, and his eyes flickered off in the distance, as if seeing something past the palisades and ruins. 

“Is this what it always feels like? To be near them?” Azry asked, stricken. Alistair shook his head, quite vehemently.  
“No! No, this is just because there's a lot of them. It doesn't normally feel like this,” he explained. His smile, though watery, was still comforting. He really had no reason to lie to her about that, Azry reasoned. She focused on ignoring the pain, trying to channel it the way her mother had taught her. It had come so easily to her previously, she would just have to not think about the creatures advancing towards them. Really not think about them.

The Wardens Duncan had been talking with began to leave, bowing to Duncan and then to the King, who acknowledged them with a nod. A couple gripped Alistair's shoulder as they passed, and he responded in kind. A few smiled or gestured at Azry. She was too focused on not throwing up to do much more than look at them blankly. None of them seemed offended. A few even had pitying looks. Azry did not resent them for it. She pitied herself. 

Duncan moved back over to them, his face grave. Alistair seemed to expect bad news, and Azry could almost feel him stiffen.

“Teyrn Loghain and His Majesty have decided to split their forces, given the size of the horde. They're hoping that an attack from two sides will give us the advantage,” Duncan said, bringing the two Wardens to the table. Alistair seemed to relax slightly at that. Duncan stood in between him and the king, and as Azry looked between them, she could see a lot of resemblance between the two. She put those thoughts to one side, wondering why she cared so much about something so irrelevant. Alistair was bent over a map that Duncan was now gesturing to.

“...and once the Tower beacon is lit, Loghain will know when to charge,” the king was saying, smiling at his own brilliance. Azry withheld her groan. At least listening to him talk wan numbing her to the oncoming horde. Loghain's face was twisted into a scowl, and if he hadn't been ugly before he certainly was now. Duncan pointed to a different place on the map, seemingly near the Wilds, but Azry didn't really trust herself with maps. 

“There will be a few Wardens here, making sure that we're aware of any stragglers, but the bulk will be with the king. Are you sure you don't want some with you, Teyrn?” Duncan asked, but Loghain shook his head. Azry could see a flicker of disgust in his expression. Her face darkened, and she fixed him with a steady glare. He never looked at her directly, but she could see his eyes flick to her a few times. “Then we will remain with the main part of the army,” Duncan finished, standing up from the table. 

“I will need your legendary strength, Duncan, and that of your Wardens. I've been looking forward to a battle like this!” the king said, practically buzzing with excitement. He was like a child, and for him to be commanding this battle was more than a little exhausting for Azry. She was already terrified about the upcoming battle enough without also having no faith in the man who would be leading it.

Duncan had bowed serenely at the king for his words and now he was turning to face Azry and Alistair. Alistair straightened, his face very serious. Azry saw that his hands still shook a little, the same as hers, but he didn't have any uncertainty in his eyes. He was afraid, she could see that, but he was sure of Duncan and the plan they were to be a part of. Azry wished for a moment that she could throw her faith as blindly as him. Duncan, however, seemed saddened by it. “Alistair, you and Adaia will not be a part of the battle,” he said quietly.

“What? Why would we not be fighting? What's going on?” Alistair asked. His voice was sharp and accusatory, and if possible, Duncan looked even more sorry than he had before. 

“I need you both to go to the Tower of Ishal. I don't think the teyrn is right to refuse our help, but his forces are his own to command. He will, however, need help holding the Tower, and lighting the beacon when it is time. Mahariel is already there, with a few of Loghain's men, so your approach should be easy,” Duncan explained. His eyes occasionally flicked to Azry to make sure she was understanding her orders, but he mostly talked to Alistair. Azry could see him trying to convince the boy to follow his orders, and not demand to be in battle. Oddly, it felt like Duncan was trying to prolong Alistair's life. 

“Are...are you sure, Duncan? I-,” Alistair said. His words sounded weak and it was clear that he knew it. Azry felt like she was interrupting something she shouldn't even be aware of, and turned away, pretending to be engrossed by a nearby map of the Wilds. Duncan's voice had dropped to a murmur, and Alistair barely replied. Azry blocked them out, using a tactic her mother had taught her, counting in her head. She could feel herself becoming more centred, and the pain that had frightened her so much had faded into a dull throb. Azry knew she couldn't keep it away for good, but having a reprieve now meant she could conserve what little energy she could.

It also meant she could keep one eye on the king, now speaking with his generals or captains or whatever, in their shiny, beautifully decorated armour. Two of them were helping the king strap on his own ridiculous armour. May as well attach a giant sign with 'aim here' painted on it, Azry thought, smirking. 

Loghain chose this moment to throw down the document he was holding, stiffly bow to the king and stalk off. Azry watched him go, the bad feeling in her gut never receding. He'd been silent during the entire meeting, and had barely changed his expression from that deep set scowl. She knew she could be judgmental, particularly of humans, but he seemed like he had something to hide. She did not trust him and he had given her no reason to.

“Adaia,” Alistair's voice said from behind her and she turned back to him and Duncan. While he did not look happy, but he looked a little more at ease. Azry didn't blame him for wanting to go into battle. Guarding a tower did not sound like an enthralling part of a war. Though, she had to admit, it was probably more complicated than just missing out on a battle. 

“When you get to the tower, wait until the signal is sent from the field. Then light the beacon for Teyrn Loghain's charge. We'll see you both after the battle. Pray it is a short one,” Duncan said, forgoing the bow he'd given everyone else in favour of grasping Alistair's shoulder. Alistair moved as if he was going to embrace Duncan, but returned the same grip on Duncan's forearm instead. Azry quirked an eyebrow at the awkward movement, almost feeling a chuckle. Duncan let Alistair go after a moment, and bowed to Azry. She inclined her head in reply. “May the Maker go with you both,” Duncan said. His tone was regretful. Alistair looked as if he was going to say something else, but couldn't find the words. Azry pretended that she didn't get the want to find them for him. 

They made their way from the Warden, Alistair leading them back the way they came. Azry looked back for a moment, and Duncan had already turned back to the table, and was poring over the maps. The king was watching them leave, his eyes closely following Azry with the same suspicion she had for Loghain. She didn't bother to return the look. She looked away, and sped up a little to catch up with Alistair. 

\--

Alistair was silent until they were halfway over the bridge. Azry was admiring the huge structures they'd built onto the left side of the bridge, to fire giant bolts straight into where, she assumed, the battle would be. Now it was a riot of colour and noise from so far up. Beyond it was a wide, open stretch of land, and beyond that still she could feel a presence that she could only assume was the approaching horde.

“It's that tower. Do you see it? The largest one on the cliff,” Alistair said. He was pointing to the least crumbled tower, and one that Azry had marveled at on her way in. 

“I see it. It's not as tall as it looks, is it?” Azry asked. She wasn't sure if she meant the question as a joke or seriously.

“If it is, let's hope the stairs aren't entirely decrepit. I do plan on living slightly longer than a few hours,” he replied, grinning at her. She felt a smile come to her face, despite everything. A witty reply was already on her lips and she could feel her posture slip into something much more casual. The only thing that troubled her was a feeling of sickness she could not shake, but it was not an unfamiliar one. Somewhere in that forest was darkspawn. She paused for a moment, forgetting her reply to Alistair. There was another feeling underneath the sickness, a pull almost. A call? It was faint but it was there. She wondered if it would always feel like this. There was a command yelled far below them, the words lost in so much space, and Azry could see a few of the black figures that made up the horde emerge from the trees and surge up towards the army. She could almost feel them, the way she could feel Alistair just a few steps from her. The feeling doubled as what looked like a wave of the dark figures emerged from the trees and Azry took in a deep intake of breath, trying to stop the nervousness that made her shake slightly.

A roar sounded from far below them, and it was like Azry was pulled from one world into another as the battlefield exploded into wild movement. The soldiers were firing the huge bolts as quickly as they could load them, and tiny figures of soldiers surged in between the approaching horde of black. Alistair grabbed Azry's wrist and pulled her along, stunned as she was by how fast the quiet had turned violent. Soldiers rushed past her as she turned back to Alistair, their faces determined and fearful. Alistair let go of her wrist once she was beside him, and together they weaved their way across the bridge, trying not to get in the way of any of the soldiers. Azry had to force herself to keep going when a grizzled man pushed her to one side, his other arm clutching three huge bolts. She channeled the anger into keeping herself going. She'd lost sight of Alistair, but she could feel him not too far ahead of her, and knew that he could feel her too. She followed that feeling, even if it made her uneasy. She told herself she would have time to grow used to it. 

Her entire life, she thought, grimly. 

She caught up to Alistair just past the open structure the King had greeted Duncan in and as soon as she was beside him, Alistair nodded and began running towards the tower he had pointed out. Azry kept pace easily beside him, his armour was bulkier than hers and she found herself slowing down her steps frequently to make sure he kept up with her. Something about strength in numbers, she told herself. They once again had to weave their way through soldiers and were seperated, but the path leading up to the tower was disturbingly clear. 

Once they reached the top, the reason became obvious. 

The whole courtyard was littered with corpses, all in armour bearing Ferelden's standard. The state of the bodies was horrendous, some were headless, others looked so clawed up that they could not be recognised as human. The sick feeling in her stomach became more of a sharp pain, and that alerted Azry to the darkspawn that were watching them from across the courtyard. She reached up to grab the hilts of her swords, a quick glance to her side to see that Alistair was doing the same, but when she looked back the creatures were gone. She squinted at the stairs where they had been gathered, and then looked behind her, and scanned the entire courtyard, turning in a circle. Her hand fell to her side as she frowned at Alistair. 

“They were just there,” she said. Alistair looked just as confused as she felt. He too was searching the courtyard, his sword drawn as he moved carefully forward, stepping lightly over corpses. Azry reached back up to her sword. 

There was a hair raising shriek from behind her, and when she spun to face the source of the noise, one of the creatures she had seen lept out of thin air and jumped on her, its sharp fingers skating over her armour and its pointed face full of jagged teeth continued to scream straight at her. Azry stumbled back, trying to force the creature of her, shoving at its shoulders and stomach. She tripped on one of the bodies and fell back, the creature taking advantage of her moment of shock to dig the sharp points of its gauntlet (or perhaps its fingers) into her cheek. Azry screamed as they sunk deeper into her skin, and the monster screamed back, high pitched and terrible. She tried to flinch back from it, the turn of her head ripping the thing's hand from her cheek. She screamed again as pain burned her face, but used it the way her mother taught her. Her adrenaline kicked in and during that long note of pain, she balled her legs up under the creature and kicked out at it, before it could attack her again. Her kick sent the thing flying back, shrieking as it went. It collided with a second one that appeared behind it, and they both went down and rolled away from Azry. She scrambled to her feet and unsheathed both her swords, running after the creatures. One of them had managed to stand, and she dodged its swipes at her, rolling under its arm and slicing at its unprotected calves. It stumbled to one side and Azry used this moment to stand and run to the the second one. She could see her own blood glistening on the end of wicked looking points on its gauntlet. Just as it was getting onto its feet, Azry drove her sword into its neck, using her second one to drive down into its chest. It gurgled a last shriek and its head rolled back, those dark eyes becoming even blacker. She yanked her swords out of it and turned back to the other one. It was struggling to stand, the shrieks were anguished. Azry moved to stand behind it, and with all of her strength behind it, swung both swords at its neck. They swung cleanly through, severing the head from the neck.

Azry was running back to Alistair before the head even hit the ground. 

He was yanking his sword from the skull of another creature, the corpse of one behind him. He looked relieved to see her coming towards him. She could not see any more of the things and could not sense anything close enough to make her feel sick, so she sheathed her swords. 

Alistair's face went very white as she reached him, and her hand went up to her cheek, the pain of the wounds flaring back through her adrenaline rush. She could feel four small punctures, the top one just on her cheek bone, two in her cheek and the last just above her chin. The stung to the touch and every movement of her jaw irritated them. Worse yet, each of them were bleeding, just a trickle, but it didn't feel like it was slowing. She pulled her hand away, and saw stripes of red criss-cross her fingers and palm. Alistair's hand replaced hers, and he gently titled her head to the side. His face was pensive, but not as worried as he looked before. Azry let the breath she'd been holding go. 

“I'll try to stem the bleeding a bit, but I haven't got anything to keep the bandage over your cheek,” Alistair said. He dug through the pouch on his belt and pulled out a wad of fabric and held it over her cheek. “Unless you want me to tie it over your mouth.” He shot her a smile. Azry rolled her eyes at him. 

“All it takes is a surprise attack for you to loosen up, huh?” She quipped, refusing flat out to wince at the slight sting from her cheek as she talked. Alistair's smile widened slightly. Azry's gaze fell on the darkspawn Alistair had pulled his sword from. Its face was pointed, the teeth were wicked and as jagged as the hurlock's had been. It was wiry and skinny and its limbs were long, thin and yet the hands were small. Azry cast a look at her own hands, but she didn't make the connection until she saw the ears. Long, and elegantly tapered into points. Subconsciously, she touched her own ear, feeling the same point. 

“Those are shrieks,” she said. She didn't need to ask him, and when Alistair did not reply, she took it as a yes. “So that's what an elf darkspawn looks like.” She tried to detach herself from it, the way she was sure Alistair had to, seeing his own people, but seeing the twisted, evil version of her own people shook her right to her core. The thought that she would have to fight more of these made bile rise in the back of her throat. 

“I think the bleeding's stopped,” Alistair said, experimentally dabbing the fabric on her cheek. It still stung, but Azry didn't let it bother her too much. If she could fight through a castle of guards with a concussion, she could fight darkspawn with a few new piercings. 

“Thanks,” Azry offered as Alistair folded the fabric over until the bloodied section was covered and shoved it back into his pouch. He smiled at her again, though slightly ruefully. Azry tried not to read into it, but the thought that he was sorry for her sprung into her mind unbidden. Sorry that she had to see her people twisted the way he'd seen his? Or perhaps that she got injured. Before she could puzzle it out much longer, a shout from the Tower steps made her turn. 

Two men, both human and one in armour, were rushing across the courtyard to meet them. Alistair waved at them, moving towards them. Azry jogged after him, slowing to a fast walk to step over the corpses. She'd managed to not think too hard about it, but there were a lot of them and there had only been four darkspawn. Where were the others? 

Alistair had reached the other men and was talking with them, the one holding a staff was waving it around, his face frantic. Azry moved faster as her path cleared and their voices became clearer. “...they just came out of nowhere, the whole garrison was just gone in minutes,” the staff-wielder was saying, and the armoured man jumped in as Azry reached Alistair's side.

“We had been delayed coming down from the patrol on top of the tower, and when we got down here every one was dead. We headed around the back to see if there had been a breach, or if any survivors got out-”

“But nothing. Absolutely no one,” the staff-wielder interrupted the armoured man, who had grown incredibly pale. Azry looked up at Alistair, who looked close to the very same colour. 

“How many did you say were in there?” he asked. The armoured man gestured at the courtyard they'd just crossed. 

“Enough to have the Tower now. You won't get up there, Warden, the whole way is covered with them,” he said, his voice wobbling. The staff-wielder nodded. Azry narrowed her eyes at them. 

“Seriously? You're going to let every man and woman down there die without even trying? There's still people up there!” Azry said. She was supressing every urge she had to ram their heads together. Alistair was looking at her, probably with concern, but she ignored him. “The signal has to be lit. Whether I go up there by myself or with help doesn't matter to me, but I'd have a better chance if you both would stop fucking whinging and do your Maker-damned fucking jobs,” she finished. There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only when Alistair let out a sound cross between a giggle and a whimper. 

“I think she's made the Grey Wardens' point very clear, don't you?” Alistair said, once he'd taken a moment. Azry shot him a conspiratorial smirk. The other men continued to stare at Azry as if she'd grown wings, horns and started breathing fire. After another long pause, Azry sighed and pulled her swords out again. They flinched back from her, but she'd paid them no heed and pushed through them. Bloody humans are so easy to stun, just talk back to them while being an elf and they lose their minds! 

Alistair made to follow after her as she glanced back at him, but the staff-wielding man seemed to choose this moment to come to his senses. 

“Wait. I'll follow you up. Let me just heal those first,” he said, sounding very tired. Azry couldn't spare a grain of energy to be sympathetic. She watched him mount the stairs after her, Alistair following behind him. The armoured man only followed them once the staff-wielder was next to Azry. He was holding a hand over Azry's cheek, and she glanced at it warily. “I'm going to gently lay my hand over the wounds, and then you'll feel a light prickle. I'm just going to close them over,” he said, and did so. Azry's eyes widened with her own shock, but before she could even think about pushing the man off her, he had taken his hand away, leaving a light sensation of tiny pinpricks of a thousand needles. She rubbed a hand over her cheek, and was absolutely stunned by the flat skin she found. There was no wounds, and she could only feel the dried blood crusted in roundish shapes as proof that they had been there. Her mouth dropped open, and she glared at the staff-wielder (mage, she corrected herself) accusingly. When he just frowned in confusion, she turned her look on Alistair, who looked irritatingly smug.

“Healing magic. Must not be a lot of mages where you lived?” Alistair explained. Azry made a scathing noise, and was about to shoot back a reply, but she closed her mouth and instead pointed a finger at the mage. He had the decency to look frightened. 

“I- I will react to this later,” Azry muttered, turning back to the doors leading into the tower. She heard Alistair's light chuckle and surprised herself by it not angering her. She passed it off as shock at being healed. Alistair had been right, there hadn't been many mages at all in the Alienages. Any elves with the talent were dragged off before she knew them. 

As the sickened feeling returned to her body, she pushed down thoughts of home, and with Alistair's help, forced open the doors to the Tower. 

\--

The men had been right, the Tower was overwhelmed. Every where were the bodies of soldiers and tens of darkspawn lurking in every corner. Even just as they entered, they were immediately set upon by smaller versions of the hurlocks, though once they were dead, Azry realised they were more than just shorter hurlocks. She had seen dwarves in the Denerim marketplace, and mentally compared the genlocks to them. If she kept reacting so emotionally to the creatures she wasn't sure she wasn't going to have any room to swallow through the lump forming in her throat. 

The mage had shocked her again by setting her weapons alight, she'd screamed and nearly flung them away before Alistair had explained it wouldn't hurt her. She turned another glare on the mage, who looked as if he was even sorrier that he'd chosen to follow them. They were now making their way up onto the second floor, Alistair leading them and the other soldier bringing up the rear. The mage was giving Azry wary looks as he followed Alistair, and Azry couldn't blame him for being wary of her. He should. If he kept up surprising her with magic she couldn't be blamed for her actions. Alistair held up a hand to signal them to stop. He slid his shield onto his back and kept moving up the stairs and into the open landing ahead of them. Azry couldn't feel any darkspawn, and she could feel Alistair moving around, so she tapped the mage's shoulder to get him moving. She and the two men emerged just as Alistair was turning back to the stairs. He looked surprise by them emerging, but his eyes fell on Azry and he grinned. 

“Good to see you're using your Grey Warden powers for good,” he remarked to her. Azry rolled her eyes but couldn't help a little proud smile. She had to stop letting him get her guard down. At this rate he'd never find her intimidating again. 

His voice had done a lot to calm the other two, and while the ill feeling hadn't quite left Azry yet, it didn't feel urgent. She sheathed her left-hand's sword (thankfully, the flames were already extinguished), but kept the other out just in case, and walked back over to join Alistair. 

“Have they signaled us yet?” She asked. Alistair shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck after sheathing his sword. 

“We could've missed it coming up here, I guess,” he replied, glancing at a window facing the west. Azry went to it and peered out, just making out the bridge and the battlefield below it. She felt Alistair stand behind her, looking over the top of her. He was easily a head, and probably a lot more, taller than her, and could easily look over her. Azry frowned, but didn't say anything. She had more important things to do that weren't telling him to shrink. 

She felt the wrongness return to her stomach, and Alistair apparently felt the same thing as they both looked down at the stairs they had just come from. A moment later, and a light burst into the corner of Azry's eye, and she turned her head back to the window to see a signal fire burning in the middle of the bridge.

“That's it! We've got to go now!” Alistair shouted. He was already pulling his sword and shield on and rushing back to the soldiers. Azry pulled her sword out and quickly joined him. The four of them then ran for the stairs leading to the third floor, Azry bringing up the rear. She could see the first darkspawn just reach the second floor as she ran up the stairs, slamming the door to the third behind her. Alistair had already run up to the stairs to the top floor, and the mage was already working on door Azry just closed, ice pouring from his hands while the soldier looked on. 

“Adaia! Up here!” Azry heard Alistair call. She ran up the stairs, that now familiar sickness returning almost powerfully, and saw Alistair struggling to pull the door open. “I think it's locked and I doubt kicking it down would work. Do you know how to...ah,” Alistair asked, and oddly trailed off at the end. It took Azry a moment to figure out why he looked so bashful, and sighed. 

“Yes, I know how to lockpick, and not because I'm an Alienage elf. Move,” she said brusquely, shoving him away. He moved away quickly, murmuring apologies that she didn't listen to. She would react to that later as well, but right now she focused on the lock, leaning her swords against the wall and rummaging through her own back for pins or lockpicks. She felt several broken shards of glass as well as a dampness and swore under her breath. Her potions must've broken when she was tussling with the shriek. She just had to hope that she didn't need them. Her fingers brushed against what felt like a hair pin, and when she pulled it out she saw a small white flower was just hanging onto it. Azry pulled it off and chose to ignore the sudden sting of tears. She wiped her eyes and set to work on the fairly simple lock. She heard it click, and was about to try and open it, her worry for the Dalish Warden returning as the sick feeling had grown worse, when a violent thump sounded from back down the stairs. Alistair exchanged one look with her, and Azry had to put her fierce anxiety about Mahariel and the darkspawn that were definitely in there with her. She retrieved her swords and followed Alistair down.

The soldier and the mage were a little ways down the corridor, searching for something. Azry looked past them to try and see what they were looking at, when the ice on the door gave a crack.

“The door!” Azry bellowed, and the soldier looked away from the hallway, and flung himself on top of the door that had nearly opened. It bucked beneath him, but the mage lent his weight against it, looking exhausted. She was about to ask why he wasn't using magic when the door nearly burst open, and only the soldier and mage slamming their bodies back against stopped it from opening. 

“You've got about five minutes before they get through!” The soldier called out to her, and she raised her sword in acknowledgment. They went up together, Alistair leading with his shield. After the mistake of the previous floor, Azry kept her eyes behind them, listening for the high-pitched screams of the shrieks. 

“The door's already open,” Alistair said quietly. Azry looked up, beyond his head and could see that the heavy wooden door she'd unlocked was partially open, and there was light and movement beyond. She was about to tell him to enter slowly, when a loud roar sounded from inside the room, followed by a scream. It sounded like it was coming from someone quite young, and it was so scared that-

Mahariel. 

“Alistair! That was Mahariel, that had to be,” Azry cried, and Alistair immediately charged forward, bashing the door open with his shield, Azry following close behind. Alistair was engaged a few hurlocks that had been right in front of the door, and their fast entry and taken them by surprise, taint or no. He already severed the head of one, and Azry dodged around the fallen body, looking frantically for the Dalish girl. What she saw first was a darkspawn clawing at something in the corner of the tower's roof. 

Not just a hurlock or genlock. This had to be an ogre. The thing was massive, at least twice, three times the size of Azry and built with huge muscles and long, gnarled hands. The horns that twisted above it's head were sharp and black and utterly wicked looking. Azry felt utterly breathless looking at the creature, feeling its presence like a powerful stain on her own soul. That was, until, she saw what it was trying to grab. Mahariel had wedged herself as far from the thing's reach as possible, and Azry could see that her quiver was empty. Her arms were beginning to tremble, even this far away Azry could see that. 

Without thinking it through, Azry charged forward, yelling to get its attention, before ramming her sword into its calf. It roared, spinning away from Mahariel, it's mouth gnashing in its rage. The teeth were even more jagged and mis-matched than the hurlock's. Azry didn't let it distract her, as it's hands were now reaching out for her, and she was down to one sword. 

“Mahariel! Light the beacon!”Azry yelled to the girl, still sitting as if paralyzed in the alcove she'd found. Azry weaved around an outstretched hand, and then lunged out of the way of a wide swing. Azry focused on moving around the creature, knowing that if that fist hit her, she wouldn't have to worry about the battle anymore. Or probably anything else. The ogre screamed again, and lowered its head. Before Azry had time to wonder what it was doing, it was charging at her, brutal horns aimed directly at her. She barely had time to just get clear of the horns, ducking down just as it hit the wall. It crashed above her, one of the horns snapping violently. Azry had a roll clumsily to the left to avoid being trampled as it bellowed in pain, stumbling back and crushing the last hurlock Alistair had been fighting beneath one enormous foot. Azry would've laughed at the look on his face, if she hadn't caught sight of Mahariel, still shaking in her alcove.

“What's she doing?!” shouted Alistair over the roars of the pained ogre. Azry launched herself away from another staggered stomp, feeling her frustration, fear and distress flood her common sense. She knew the girl was terrified, without any weapons and had been trapped for Maker knew how long, but Azry could not hold back when there was a chance her hesitation might mean a thousand more deaths down on the battle field below. 

“Mahariel! Light the damn beacon!” Azry screamed, unable to keep her tone steady as the ogre swung blindly at her. Alistair attempted to distract it, slicing into its knees and ankles, but it remained upright, and worse, was managing to get closer to Azry. She was pulling off more and more desperate moves just to dodge away from the ogre. She was backed up against the very wall it had broken its horn on, and the rage fueled by its pain continued to make it violently lash out towards her, every footstep shaking the ground. Alistair had been forced to dodge away, and the few glimpses she got of his face told Azry just how little he could do to get her out. She took a deep breath, and begged her body not to give out now. 

The ogre made a massive lunge at her, and Azry, almost instinctually, raised the sword she now gripped with both hands, and made her stance as firm as she could. The force of the creature's hands slamming into her felt as if it had crushed her entire chest, but she could feel her blade sinking deep into it's chest. Blood, thick and blackened burst onto her face and neck, slicking her grip on the sword. She hung on with all the strength she had, until she hit the wall. She hadn't been that far from it, not even a step, but the force that crushed her against it made it feel like she had been thrown. She couldn't even let out a sound. All the air rushed from her body in a gasp. Her hands fell from her sword, completely numb. There wasn't a part of her that didn't feel bloodied and bruised and ruined. She would've screamed from the pain if it wasn't everywhere. 

The ogre pulled her close to its face, and Azry hated the way her entire body turned to rags as it lifted her from the wall. Her head lolled, she could feel the rattle of her breath and the way her shoulder was bent back she knew was not right. The ogre laughed that terrible, choking grunt and Azry knew what was coming. 

A huge flare of light flashed behind the ogre, and Azry closed her eyes, wishing she could smile at Mahariel. 

The ogre roared as Azry was flung once more against a wall and blackness overwhelmed her.

\--

Mahariel lit the beacon just as Alistair managed to plunge his sword into the orgre's knee, but he already knew it was too late. There was only so many places a crack like that was heard, and he had to hold back his urge to cry out. The ogre had already dropped Adaia's body, turning its attention on Alistair. It's hands were reaching out to grab him and that sick laugh was echoing in Alistair's skull and he could see Adaia's eyes closing over. 

It felt easier than it was to step around those reaching arms and plunge his sword into the ogre's head. When it fell, Alistair yanked his sword out, climbed onto its back and drove his sword back into its skull once more for good measure, and only removed it when the ogre stopped twitching and moaning and became completely still. 

There was a moment where Alistair sat, and took in a long breath. He pulled his shield from his arm and hooked it onto his back. He sheathed his sword and and tried to stretch out his arms. He could feel adrenaline still pumping through his blood, and the anger. The pure kind of rage he hadn't felt since- well, ever. And to think he'd barely known her and yet she could incite this much anger.

It was then that it finally hit him. The reason he was so angry. He scrambled off the ogre's corpse and ran to Adaia, panic seizing him, and his heart started thumping along to his internal monolouge of no, no, no, no, no, no, no. She was unconscious, her heart beat was barely recognisable as one and her breathing was more like a death rattle. He dropped to his knees next to her, staring in horror at how twisted her bones were. He didn't even want to touch her, he didn't want to make this already desperate situation worse, and he knew that if nothing was done she would be dead. Her surviving the Joining would be for nothing. His hands hovered over her tiny, broken frame. She was so small, he'd noticed she was short, but when she'd fought she seemed so much more than just a small body, she was the air around it and her blades were extensions of her arms and-

He heard Mahariel shuffle near him. He didn't know whether to ignore her or yell at her, and even if he did acknowledge her, how could he turn away from Adaia, when he could almost literally see her life drain from her? He could not even wipe the ogre's blood from her to check her injuries, he knew they were extensive and he had no idea how much worse he could make it by touching her at all. 

He heard the soldiers downstairs yell a warning, before there was a crash and the grunts and wails of the darkspawn could be heard. He stood, turning to face the door, but keeping close to Adaia's body. Mahariel was wringing her hands around the grip of her bow, and he could see she had no arrows. Did she not have another weapon? 

Alistair quickly yanked Adaia's sword from the orgre's leg and tossed it to Mahariel with a shout to catch her attention. She dodged it, turning an accusing glare on him as it clattered to the ground. Alistair could barely form a tiredly confused expression from her actions before the door burst open. He flung himself in front of her, unsheathing his sword. 

A huge wolf, black fur rippling beneath an almost purple sheen landed gracefully in front of him, the stern yellow eyes staring straight at him. Alistair could feel a slight bit of panic rising. A wolf that size could take him down quite easily, tired as he was by the last few battles. He hoped Mahariel would either pick up the weapon he'd tossed to her or would have the good sense to run while he fought it. 

The wolf suddenly reared back, and Alistair prepared for it to strike, but to his staggering and complete bewilderment, it was engulfed in golden light. Its limbs twisted and shifted and shrunk until standing before them was a young woman, dark brown hair tied up at the back of her head, yellow eyes regarding him with that same stern expression as the wolf's. 

“My mother has killed the darkspawn in the Tower, she's clearing a path for us now. Can you carry her?” The woman said, nodding her head at Adaia. Her tone was matter of fact and her expression was bored.

Alistair was completely floored. His mouth opened a few times, trying to make sense of what had just happened in front him. The woman looked at him, her expression becoming a lot more irritated than bored. 

“Are you going to say or do anything? Because I can leave you here to gape while I get your fellow Wardens out,”the woman said, her voice clipped. She crossed her arms over her, rather exposed, chest, raising an eyebrow at him. Alistair took in her loose dress, the collection of arcane looking necklaces that dangled from her neck and lastly the fact that she had transformed from a giant wolf into a person and finally formed a coherent reply. 

“You're a Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?” Alistair said, accusingly. The woman looked like she was about to say something very angry at him, when Mahariel's voice whispered something reverently from behind him. She emerged from behind Alistair, her eyes bright with wonder. The woman smiled very warmly at her, which threw Alistair again. 

“No, that is my mother. I can take you to her, little elf,” she said to Mahariel, who walked over to her quite eagerly. The woman turned back to Alistair, the stern look back in her eyes. “Yes, I am a Witch of the Wilds, and I am your only way out of here. Now, can you carry her out?” She asked again. Alistair cast a look at Mahariel. She was staring at the woman with reverence in those usually fury filled eyes. He took in Adaia next, and it was the shallow way she breathed that made up his mind for him. 

“I can't move her, she's too injured. If you could bring up the healer that was downstairs, he can fix her,” Alistair said firmly. He didn't know what to think about this woman, but he knew what the Templar Order said about apostates. No matter what title the Chasind people had given her, she was still an outlaw mage. They could not be trusted. 

“He's dead. So is the soldier. They were overwhelmed before I could get to them. And before you bring up getting another healer, the closest one is my mother and she has taken a special interest in keeping you three alive,” the woman said, her voice well past irritated and firmly angry. She strode over to Adaia, and before Alistair could grab her and pull her back, she had drawn a glyph onto Adaia's armour. It burned there, white hot, for just a moment before it faded. “She's now paralysed. Her broken bones will not be moved. Can you please pick her up now, so that we may leave before more of the creatures arrive?” She said, giving him an expectant look. 

Alistair gaped at her again. This apparently wasn't the response she was looking for, and with a sigh she walked back to Mahariel and went back down the stairs, the Dalish girl following close behind. Alistair thought for a moment about calling them back, but chose instead to take Adaia's lead earlier, and put aside his reaction for later. If her mother could heal Adaia, who had already given up so much to join the Wardens, perhaps it was worth getting help from apostates. He struggled with that decision for a moment, the teachings that had been instilled in him at birth fighting with his desire to keep as many people alive as possible. 

He forced himself to stare at the elven woman, forced himself to imagine walking out of here without her. Leaving her corpse to be defiled and hung like a banner, the way so many had been.

He picked Adaia up, her paralysed form a little awkward to hold, and carried her carefully from the Tower, following the strange apostate and Mahariel out into the Kocari Wilds.


	7. Lofticries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it seep through your sockets and ears  
> Into your precious, ruptured skull  
> Let it seep, let it keep you from us  
> Patiently heal you  
> Patiently unreel you
> 
> \-- Lofticries, Purity Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! After playing Inquisition (which is fucking phenomenal, whether you like Dragon Age or not) I got all kinds of motivation back. So here is post-Ostagar, finally! It's shorter than my other chapters, something that will hopefully change, and it has been poorly edited by me, whoops, so I'll go back and fix it soon. For now, enjoy and I hope that you'll stick around for the rest!
> 
> My tumblr is teenytabris if you'd like to come and kick my ass into gear or cry about Inquisition. Both is good. :)

She'd been near the battle field several times, but never this close. She could smell the fear on one of the soldiers, watch how the only woman rolled her eyes as they continued their trek through the swampy moor. With a snort, she fell back further into the forest, padding softly along the tree line to keep up with the small group. They weren't scouts, she was certain of that, but there wasn't much else to give away what they were. Their armour was plain, the decorated exception belonging to the one who stank of fear, and they were heading towards a smaller group of the creatures she had spotted earlier.

She was beginning to regret following them, as boring as they were, when the youngest one, the man that had been leading them, turned his head in the direction that the smell of a few darkspawn had itched at her nose. She flicked her ears forward and could hear them approach. The speed at which the man had heard them was astonishing. 

Unless he hadn't heard them, rather felt them. 

She watched them fight with renewed interest, seeing how the man was able to dodge blows as if he felt them coming, and the way the woman seemed to flow around her victims like water. The other two she ignored, not interested in their clumsy fighting. Once the creatures were down, she watched them fill vials with their blood, and her suspicions were confirmed. 

The Grey Warden and the Wardens-to-be walked away from the corpses, their work done, yet the woman looked back. Her blue eyes looked straight at her, and she could feel a shiver of fate about her. Something about the elven woman sang, a sense of greatness surrounded her. She kept their eyes locked until the woman had reached her fellows, and then Morrigan turned from them, trotting back into the shadows, her wolf form rippling away, glowing until she strode on two feet.

What was her Mother going to think about this?

\--

The first thing Azry noticed was the smell. It filled her nose with sharp, herbal scents and underlying all of that was mud. The thick, earthy smell of packed dirt made everything else stronger. The next thing she noticed was that she'd not felt this rested since-

Well, since she'd left the Alienage. 

Her head did not hurt at all as she slowly sat up, and when she opened her eyes the muted light did not aggravate any pain. Her head felt better then it did with the potions. It felt healed. She rubbed a hand over her face, and felt no swelling and no pain from her bruises. 

“Rubbing your face any harder will reveal no new information, child,” said a voice, wizened and with a hint of humour to it. Azry dropped her hands from her face in shock, and standing by the door was an old woman, grey hair curled into a neat bun and dressed simply in a russet red dress, smiling knowingly at her. Azry stared at her dumbly for a moment, and then finally began taking in her surroundings.

She was in a ridiculously comfortable bed, which was pushed up against a wall. In front of her was a roaring fire, and a cauldron suspended over it seemed to be bubbling with the source of the sharp smell. Herbs, spices and hares hung on a wall next to it and cooking implements hung underneath. A bookshelf was stacked full, piles of books surrounding it and next to the door stood a wardrobe, one half open to reveal simple clothing in earthy colours. All in all, it was a neat, homely place and that added up to only one thing in Azry's mind. 

“I'm dead, aren't I?” She asked the old lady, who frowned at her.  
“What gives you that impression?” She replied. 

“Well, I don't feel like shit, in fact I feel better than I have for days, possible ever, I'm warm, comfortable and everything looks neat and smells nice. Obviously I'm dead, and if the Chantry is to be believed, that probably makes you Andraste,” Azry said, and to her surprise the woman began laughing uproariously. 

“Oh, that's something I'm going to remember next time I feel old!” The woman grinned, walking over to Azry. There was something a little bit predatory about the woman that set Azry on edge, but when she knelt next to her, Azry could no longer see it. She wondered if the woman herself knew how carefully she was being watched. “I can assure you that even despite your very best efforts, you are alive and well,” the woman said, patting Azry's blanketed legs. 

“Where am I? And who are you, not that I'm not grateful for the bed and-” Azry began, not sure where the rest of her sentence was going, but quieten end when the woman held up a hand. Oddly enough, it seemed younger than the rest of her. 

“Flemeth. And you are in my home, in the Kocari Wilds,” Flemeth said kindly, smiling in that almost predatory way. 

The Wilds. That wasn't too far from the battle, but a huge distance from the Tower, where-

The Tower. Mahariel!

“Mahariel, is she all right? Did she light the signal?” Azry asked, moving to throw off the covers. Flemeth stood and watched carefully as Azry made to stand, only wobbling slightly. She steadied herself on the wall, bracing a hand against it. Her head did not hurt and her knees were only weak from lack of use. She would have marvelled at her recovery from those serious injuries, but her heart was too full of fear for the young Dalish girl. Flemeth had said nothing yet, merely watched Azry stand. She looked as if she was searching the elf for something. Finally, when Azry felt strong enough to stand without bracing her weight against the wall, Flemeth's eyes locked on her own. 

“The Dalish girl is fine. Taken quite a shine to my Morrigan, as it would seem. They're in the Wilds. And she did light the signal,” Flemeth said. Her face was expressionless. 

Azry did not have the chance to react before the door to the hut slammed open and Alistair burst into the room, his face white with shock. 

“Thank the Maker, you're all right,” he said. His voice was full of relief as he walked towards her, but stopped short of touching her, his previously open palms curling inwards and dropping to his sides. Alistair's eyes were on her head and he frowned a little, enough that Azry raised a hand to her previously bruised face sub-consciously. She could not feel any blood, dried or otherwise, or even a scratch. 

“I hope you don't mind, I thought I should heal everything while I was at it. 'Twould be a shame to fix the rest of the body but leave the face battered,” Flemeth said, a mischievous smile on her face. Azry wished she could have a mirror to see it, she could barely remember what she looked like without bruises. Alistair had turned to glare at Flemeth, his face was furious, as if she'd committed some kind of great evil by fixing Azry's face.

“Did she tell you?” Alistair said, turning his glare on Azry, who barely had time to gape confused lay before he continued. “Did she tell you that she is a Witch of the Wilds?” He said; he sounded enraged.

Azry racked her brain for what little her father had said about witches, but couldn't think of any reason why the knowledge the old woman was one should make her as angry as the young Warden. There was a moment of silence, before Alistair turned back to face Azry again, looking aghast at her. Azry raised her eyebrows at him.

“What's that?” Azry asked, half shrugging. Alistair's mouth dropped open. 

“You don't know what a Witch of the Wilds is?” He asked, completely dumbstruck. Azry rolled her eyes. He looked accusingly at Flemeth. 

“I gave her my name. That seemed the only important information she required after just waking up,” she said. She sounded as bored as Azry was beginning to feel. Alistair looked aghast but Azry couldn't summon any sympathy for him in this argument. 

“She's an apostate. Probably the most dangerous one in all of Fereldan,” Alistair said. Azry could hear a slight bit of pleading in his tone, as if he wanted her to suddenly hate their rescuer apparent. Azry had met apostates, at least how much you could meet someone before they were dragged away from their family screaming. The victims were grieved for as if they were dead in the Alienage. Azry looked Flemeth up and down. The woman was small, lithe and she did have a predatory edge to her, but the most dangerous in Fereldan? She gave Alistair a skeptical look. 

“Sure. Whatever makes this conversation end,” Azry said when he remained unmoved. 

“I could not agree more,” Flemeth muttered, giving Alistair a look that could only be described as motherly disappointment. Azry had to hold back a shout of laughter. Flemeth had crossed the room and gone beyond, where Azry could hear her rummaging through something. “Don't you have something far more pressing to inform her of, Warden?” she called. Azry frowned and looked back at Alistair. 

She finally took in his full appearance, and saw that his whole body was drawn as tight as a bow string. Tension was clear in every muscle, even his hands were shaking with effort. His shirt was unlaced, leaving it open enough that she could see the bruises of the battle that surrounded his Warden mark. He looked pale and his cheeks and chin were dusted with stubble. It did not look like he had been in a battle hours ago, rather weeks ago, and the outcome had not been in his favour. He did not meet her eyes as silence lingered.

“How long have I been here?” Azry ventured. Alistair finally looked up. Haggard, Azry thought to herself. He looks like he has a weight he cannot carry bearing down in him.

“We've been here a week. You've been in and out of conciousness for all that time. We didn't-” Alistair cut himself off, looking away from her. Breath seemed to have become harder for him in that moment. It certainly had for Azry. A whole week spent between life and death. Her muscles had felt stiff and weak with disuse, and even now her knees felt weak.

“-we didn't think you'd wake up properly,” Alistair finished, sounding as tired as Azry suddenly felt. She took a step back and sat back on the bed, threading one hand through her hair, no longer in the haphazard braid she had put it in...a week ago? Her hand fisted in her locks, twisting strands of her blonde hair as she fought back panic. She was fine now, obviously, she did not feel any dizziness from pain and her body felt rested and only in need of a good stretch. 

“So if Mahariel lit the signal, we won, right?” Azry said, unwinding her fingers from her hair. Alistair didn't move his eyes from the spot on the wall he'd been staring at. The tension in his muscles relaxed, but not as if he was relieved. It was more like the weight had been too much and he was about to collapse.

“Loghain quit the field. The King is dead,” he said, slumping to the ground, his back against the wall near the fireplace. He could not meet Azry's eyes. 

Her heartbeat was so loud in her own ears that Azry wondered why Alistair hadn't commented on it. As his words sunk in, her breathing had almost stopped and when it finally began again, it felt more like gasping. 

“But...but we got to the Tower. We- Maker, was it all for nothing? The entire battle?” Azry said, standing. She felt full of energy and yet could direct it at nothing. Her limbs were heavy with disuse and her head was still foggy but all she could feel was the deep desire to run after every single person who had turned from battle with Loghain and pay them back for every life that had been taken. 

Alistair made no move to answer her, and the way his head hung from his neck made it appear that he had lost control of it. It would've been funny if he didn't look exactly what despair sounded like. Azry's fury dulled a little at seeing it. Her hands unfurled from the fists she'd rolled them into unknowingly and she took a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline leave her body. 

“So that's it?” She asked Alistair. He looked up, and with a slight pang Azry noticed his eyes were reddened. She swallowed her sympathetic comment before it could ruin the stoic image she was trying to build. 

Alistair shrugged. “I...I don't know what else to do. Everyone's dead. Duncan-” he began, and then cut himself off. His voice weakened on Duncan's name, like it couldn't carry the weight of it. Azry remembered the war table meeting before the fight, how desperately Alistair had fought to stay beside the Warden-Commander. She knew before he even finished his sentence that it was not the King or even the lost battle he was mourning. “He's dead. They all are. Every Warden,” he finished. 

“Every Warden but you three,” Flemeth said, returning to the room, clothes in her arms. Azry barely noticed her, so lost in her thoughts. Duncan was dead. As sorry as she felt for Alistair and as sad as she felt for his passing, being the person that saved her life, she realised that nothing held her to stay within the Wardens anymore. She was free. She could go back to Denerim, see her family. Protect them better this time-

Alistair stood so suddenly that Azry's thoughts stopped just as quickly. His eyes were oddly fierce, not in the aggressive way he had been towards Flemeth. He seemed determined, the same expression that he had worn fighting through the tower. Azry forced herself to remain standing and breathe steadily, despite her heart rate picking up. He walked towards her, and reached underneath the neckline of his shirt for something. He fiddled with it for a moment, coming to a halt in front of her, before pulling a thin leather band over his head, a tiny vial filled with blackened blood hanging from it. 

“It's tradition that every Warden have one of these. It's the Joining potion you took. To remember the others by. To remember all the sacrifices,” he said, handing it to Azry. She took it, her hands reaching out subconciously, and she stared at the morbid charm. “Duncan...he wanted to give it to you himself. Once the battle was over. 'course, that's not really an option anymore,” Alistair said, his voice resigned. He sighed, and rubbed his hand through his hair. Azry looked away from the necklace to meet his eyes, but he looked away. He let another sigh, and then promptly left the hut, closing the door quietly behind him. 

“Bizzare young man, that one. We must be wary of sentimental fools, my dear. Too often they cling to the familiar and reject change,” Flemeth said. She gripped Azry's shoulder lightly, smiling serenely at her, and followed Alistair outside. Azry was left standing on her own, the necklace resting in her palm like it belonged there. 

She knew why Alistair had given it to her then. He was trying to comfort her, as if she had been as affected by the Warden's deaths as he had been. They were a great loss, no doubt, the world would suffer under this Blight. Ferelden might not ever recover. To her, however, the necklace represented a choice. She let the leather band hang from her hand, the vial swinging lightly on it. The light from the fireplace made the brackish blood glitter, shades of red mingling with the lightest glimmer of blue. It was beautiful as it was terrifying. This was the blood that was in her veins now, after all. This is what would power her heart and make her fight. She would hear the darkspawn no matter where she went, feel them like a thrumming through her being, like grains of sand washing over her skin. 

She lay the necklace on top of the clothing Flemeth had left her. She spotted her sword sheath inside an open trunk, lying on top of simple green clothing. She went to it and knelt before it, pushing her hair back behind her ears and rummaging through the contents. The green clothing was probably Mahariel's, and beneath that was the girl's quiver, empty of arrows. Underneath that was the remnants of Azry's armour. A phantom pain made her gasp as she stared the dented pieces. She pulled it out and tossed it aside, trying to ignore the clang as it rattled in her head. 

Finally, her belongings lay in front of her. The belt Soris and Shianni had made her was bloodstained, but intact. Her knife was still in its sheathe, still sharp and unharmed. Her wedding ring was still threaded onto it. Carefully, she slid it off and placed it on her finger. It sparkled, the gold becoming fiery and each leaf and branch beautifully outlined by the light. It did not fit her finger. It was slightly too big. That knowledge made her heart ache for a moment, but she pushed it aside. She'd dealt with her grief, reliving it will do her no good now. 

The last thing was her mother's necklace. The clasp was broken, the leather was stained with red and there were holes and tears all around it. It was wrecked. The beautiful, simple work it had been stung in Azry's memory. She lightly touched it, the way her father had just over a week ago.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she murmured to it, her throat tight. Alistair may not have known it, but he was offering her a choice. When he handed her that necklace he was telling her that there were only two paths, and when she so readily took it, she knew which one she was going to follow. 

For just one moment, she entertained the idea of returning to Denerim, running straight to her father. Holding him, and promising to never leave again. To see Soris and Shianni, to spend her days with her beloved cousins. To train in the cellar, to braid Shianni's thick hair while she read aloud. To tease Soris while he researched something in those dusty tomes. To attend all those meetings and gatherings around the Venadahl. To live and love and be free. She smiled at those thoughts, her hands gripping the necklace and belt tightly enough to cut into her skin. 

With a shaky breath, she stood and walked back to the bed. She changed into the grey tunic and dark brown pants, a little big on her, and tied the belt around her waist, the dagger resting in the small of her back. She slid her wedding ring off her finger, swallowing her sorrow back, and untied the leather necklace to slip the ring onto it. The ring made a small *ting *as it fell next to the vial. She regarded the necklace for a moment, and then took in a deep breath. Azry lay the necklace down carefully for a moment, sitting down so she could tug on her boots. She then cradled the charms and left the hut, shutting the door carefully behind her. 

Once outside, she could see that the hut was much smaller outside than the inside gave away, and yet much taller. There was a firepit in the middle of a clearing between the forest, the hut and a swamp that stretched almost the whole way around it. Flemeth, holding a small chest, was talking to Alistair, who was staring out into the distance. Azry coughed, and they turned to look at her. Flemeth grinned widely, almost boastingly. Though it didn't quite reach his eyes, Alistair smiled too. Azry held up the necklace. 

“Give me a hand? I'm not too good with small knots,” she said, knowing she sounded a bit lame but found herself uncaring about what Alistair and Flemeth thought. She was even glad for Alistair's small smile, that he could find his way through his grief to be happy for even the slightest moment. It was a hard thing, she knew that. He took the necklace from her hand and stepped behind her to carefully tie it around her neck. She was going to have to get used to how it felt having him near, the darkspawn taint in them both sang to each other. He felt like a prickle under her skin, yet it was not entirely unwelcome. 

“You get used to it. Grey Wardens feel differently to darkspawn,” Alistair said, and Azry looked over her shoulder at him. A corner of his lips quirked as he saw her skeptical expression. “Could you move your hair? I don't want to tie some of it up in the knot, and knowing myself, that would definitely be something I would do,” he said, a little of his usual humor returning to his voice. Rolling her eyes, Azry gathered her hair together and pulled it over her shoulder. 

“Very smooth move. Bet that gets all the ladies,” Azry said. Alistair laughed. 

“Oh yeah. That's what you look for in a man, someone who can accidentally pull all your hair out. Bald patches are so in,” he remarked. His fingers brushed her neck lightly as he tied the necklace together, and Azry tried not to shiver. Damn her neck for being so sensitive. Once he was done, he stepped back in front of her, and she could see lightness back in his eyes. She smiled at him, and lightly touched the vial and ring. They fell on her breastbone, resting comfortably as if they were meant to lie there. “Is...is that not tight enough?” Alistair asked. Azry shook her head. 

“It's fine. Oddly perfect, actually,” she said, frowning. Alistair's smile dimmed a little at that. 

“Well, at least we match now?” he offered, tugging his own vial out from under his tunic. He held it up a little away from his chest, smirking slightly. Azry's frown faded at that and she copied his action. 

“As pleased as I am to see you both getting along, there are some rather more important things that we need to discuss,” Flemeth said, her voice incredibly stern. Azry let her necklace drop from her hand, Alistair tucking his back away. They both made their way over to the older woman, Azry wondering where that taciturn voice had come from. Once they were in front of her, Flemeth opened the small chest and removed from it four very aged scrolls. “The seals on these wore of ages ago, I have protected them should the need to use them arise,” she said, handing one to Alistair. He took it reluctantly, regarding it the way you might a giant spider, and carefully unrolled it. Azry watched as his face turned from confusion to shock and finally and incredulously to elation. 

“These can't be- they're- these are Grey Warden treaties!” he said, staring at Flemeth in bewilderment. Her expression was so pleased she could've been a cat in a sunbeam. Alistair showed the scroll to Azry, pointing to the gold-leaf griffon symbol on the bottom. The ink of the words was smudged but it was incredibly intact for something so old looking. “Duncan had us looking for these the day we came to Ostagar but the old Warden tower was destroyed almost entirely. Nothing could've survived and yet,” Alistair said. Azry couldn't help but grin at the joy in his voice.

“I feared that the battle at Ostagar would go poorly, and so I kept them in case others may need them. I am glad I did so now, for the two of you and Mahariel cannot defeat this Blight on your own,” Flemeth said. Her words brought gravity back to the situation and Azry couldn't help the surge of panic within her. Even if she had chosen to remain with Alistair and Mahariel and fight it, what could she do against the horde? Flames, she would've died trying to fight that ogre, how could she face a dragon?

“She's right. We can't. What on Thedas are we going to do?” Azry said, her doubt making her almost regret her decision to stay. The warmth in Alistair's eyes dimmed a bit, and Azry was sorry to see it go. He stared down at the treaty once more, his brow furrowed in thought. 

“The treaties are a start, but we need someone in the Landsmeet behind us. Someone who knows what happened at Ostagar,” Alistair said, rolling the scroll up. 

“What are the treaties for, exactly?” Azry asked. Alistair looked confused for a moment, and then a realization seemed to dawn on him. 

“I'm not very good at explaining things to you, am I?” he said, sounding ashamed. Azry shook her head, a grin trying to stifle her laughter. “They're for recruiting. Elves, dwarves, mages and the armies of the Landsmeet, whatever we can get. The treaties are ancient and binding, we present them and they have to offer help. Whatever the cost,” Alistair explained. Azry took another look at the aged parchment, her panic subsiding. She even began to feel the slightest bit hopeful. 

“So, we can gather all those forces to us to fight the Blight,” Azry said. Alistair nodded.  
“The beginnings of an army. All we need is a noble to fight Loghain's claims,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice. At the mention of that name, Azry bristled. She may not have any personal feelings towards the armies of King Cailan or even the Wardens, but she did not have to. She could hate anyone that left an entire army to die purely from spite. The red haired woman with all those freckles flashed across her mind. Azry wondered how long she had fought before she was killed. 

“He's taken the throne, then?” Azry said, her tone matching Alistair's.  
“I believe he is already upon it, and most likely blackening the Wardens' name,” Flemeth said. 

“He knows not all of us died, so he's likely covering his tracks. Luckily, there is someone that won't believe him,” Alistair said.  
“Who?” Azry replied. She knew she had spoken too quickly, too eagerly, but her whole body was filled with restless tension, fueled by her anger. She half considering running after Loghain now and giving him the treatment his betrayal had given all those soldiers. 

Alistair seemed reluctant for a moment, as if regretting mentioning anything. His want for vengeance must've been akin to Azry's however, as this one moment was quickly pushed aside. 

“Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. He's Cailan's uncle. He wasn't at the battle, he still has all of his troops and he would see right through Loghain's lies. Especially if I was the one telling him,” Alistair said. Azry frowned.  
“Why you?” She asked.  
“He raised me. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle and died giving birth to me. Eamon took me, not that he had to. I wasn't his son. He treated me as if I was, though. I think he would believe me,” Alistair explained, though he didn't sound very sure of himself. Azry didn't believe that an Arl, and one with royal ties at that, would take in a serving girl's child unless he was related, but didn't press Alistair any further. If he believed that the Arl would listen to him, and that they would have an ally to speak against Loghain with, she would go along with it.

“Sounds like a plan. How far is Redcliffe from here?” Azry said, pouring as much bravado into her words as possible. Alistair looked surprised, but completely relieved. She didn't blame him. She was fighting every argumentative instinct she had. 

“Not far at all. With Arl Eamon, elves, dwarves and mages, I would say that you have quite the army backing you. A Blight surely could not stand against that,” Flemeth said. She looked triumphant. Azry could not help the surge of hope her words gave her. 

“So we're doing this? Defeating the Blight here in Ferelden?” Alistair said, his voice hopeful. Eagerness was in his every gesture, a complete change from the morose man Azry had seen earlier. She could not help but grin.

“In that case, and if you are both ready to travel, I have one more gift to give you,” Flemeth said, replacing the scrolls into the chest and giving it to Alistair. As her words finished, Mahariel and a pale skinned girl with dark hair and the oddest eyes Azry had ever seen emerged from the words, a brace of fennecs in her hand. 

She was also barely dressed, merely strings across her chest and an odd hodded vest draped over that. Alistair stiffened at their approach, his eyes becoming hostile. Azry guessed something happened between them while she was asleep, and wasn't sure whether she wanted to know. Mahariel looked totally at ease and unharmed, her face content and her movements relaxed. Upon seeing Azry, Mahariel cocked her head. Her eyes scanned Azry, as if searching for something. She met Azry's eyes and nodded, apparently satisfied. 

“We've caught quite a few creatures, Mother. Are we to have guests for the eve? Or are the Wardens leaving us?” the woman said serenely. She threw down the fennecs next to the fire, her yellow eyes falling on Azry with the same searching look as Mahariel's, but upon looking at Alistair, turning disgusted. 

Yeah, something definitely happened while she was unconscious. Azry was relieved that they would be seperated once they left, she wasn't sure if they could be trusted not to kill each other. They were certainly trying their hardest simply with their gazes.

“The Wardens shall indeed be leaving. Mahariel as well,” Flemeth said, and laughed as Mahariel made a thoroughly unimpressed face. “Now, now, dear, you have work to do. You are more than welcome to return once it is done,” Flemeth said soothingly, gently cupping the Dalish girl's face as it turned remorseful. With a huff Mahariel rolled her eyes and stalked to the hut, entering it with a familiarity that was unsettling. How did she know Flemeth and this strange woman?

Flemeth herself had now turned her eyes on the woman, who was still swapping death glares with Alistair. “You will be going with them too, child.”

“Such a shame, tha-” whatever smart comment the woman was about to make was lost as she turned to face her mother, shock clear on her face. “What?” she spat.

“You heard me, Morrigan. You still have ears, last I checked,” Flemeth said, her voice mocking. Morrigan looked completely flabbergasted, and Azry pitied her. 

“If she doesn't want to come with us, I see no reason to force her,” Azry offered, but Morrigan did not turn her gaze from her mother, and neither Flemeth from her.

“I'm afraid she must go with you. You will need her in the coming times,” Flemeth said, fixing a stern glare on her daughter. Morrigan withered beneath it. 

“Very well,” she said meekly. Her head bowed, and Flemeth's face returned to the serene smile she seemed to rest in. “Just...give me a moment to gather my things,” Morrigan said, turning from her mother and stalking back to the hut. 

“I should probably gather ours too. Wait here, I'll get everything,” Alistair said, following Morrigan and Mahariel into the hut. Azry rolled her eyes. 

“Where else am I going to go?” she called to his retreating back. He didn't reply but made a non-committal gesture with his hand that she guessed was supposed to mean something like 'I don't know'. Flemeth crossed the short distance between her and Azry, and placed her hand lightly on her shoulder. Azry thought she could feel something dark radiating from the witch, but once she concentrated on it, it was gone. She chose to put it out of her mind. 

“You must brace yourself, this threat is greater than anyone realises. It will be a difficult challenge for you will, but you must not give in to the darkness. Your destiny lies far beyond this battle, and I would not see such a destiny cut short,” Flemeth said quietly, her words filled with a power that was beyond Azry's comprehension. She understood now why people thought she was dangerous. Words like destiny had never had much meaning for Azry, but coming from Flemeth's lips she could feel the words as if it was burnt into her. She could do nothing more in reply than nod. Flemeth was pleased by this, and patted Azry's cheek. “Do not fret. You will see how easy leadership comes to you,” she said finally, turning away from her back to the fire, where she began inspecting the fennecs Morrigan had returned with. 

Leadership. You will see how easy leadership will come to you, she had said. Azry thought of Alistair, his uneasiness leading her and the other recruits through the Wilds, how his every idea was directed at her like a question. She could also not imagine Mahariel leading, the girl's quietness and disgust with everything around her, as well as her perchant for going off on her own showing a more independent spirit than one meant to take the front. Morrigan was an outside force, and also someone that Alistair clearly did not like. The feeling was obviously returned. That was something that Azry would have to sort out immediately-

The shock of already planning strategy, even just inside her head, made her gape at Flemeth. The woman had a ghost of a smile playing around her mouth, as if she could Azry's thoughts. 

Morrigan emerged from the hut, a pack slung over her shoulders and a staff clutched in her hand, Mahariel and Alistair emerging behind her. Mahariel was back in her green clothes and armor, her bow and quiver back on, Alistair was wearing a rather bulky pack, his shield hanging from it and his sword strapped onto his hip. He was holding a smaller pack and Azry's sheath out to her. She smiled as she took them, strapping the swords around her waist. They hung a bit loosely, but they'd be easier to get at there than from under her pack, which she shrugged onto her shoulders. 

“I won't forget this, mother. How kind you are to cast me out like this,” Morrigan said, rather scathingly. Azry had to stifle a laugh. 

“Lothering should be your first stop. You are all in need to real human company, particularly to gage the feeling of the people,” Flemeth said, her eyes not moving from the fennec she was stripping. Morrigan seemed furious that she had been ignored, but there was a despair in her eyes that Azry knew well. “Do try to have fun, dear,” Flemeth said, looking up at Morrigan. She swallowed, her hand gripping her staff a little tighter. 

“This way. Follow me, Wardens,” Morrigan said, walking away from the hut and into the forest. She did not look back once. Alistair gestured from Azry to walk in front of him, and she did so. 

“Thank you for everything, Flemeth,” she said. Flemeth smiled.

“No, thank you. You are the heroes here. Not I,” she replied, a predatory grin flashing across her features. Azry felt a shiver of the dark power that she had before, and turned away from Flemeth, following Morrigan and Mahariel into the forest, Alistair right behind her.


	8. Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soldier on my own, I don't know the way  
> I'm riding up the heights of shame  
> I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest  
> I'm ready for the fight and fate
> 
> The sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head,  
> The thunder of the drums dictates  
> The rhythm of the falls the number of deaths  
> The rising of the heights ahead
> 
> \--Iron, Woodkid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha, regular updates what's that.

Morrigan led the way through the forest, briefly pointing out where the horde was, before lapsing back into silence. Azry searched the trees, trying to make out any sign of the darkspawn. She could see nothing, and even the taint in her blood could not feel them. She found it hard to believe that Morrigan could detect what she could not, especially with Alistair and Mahariel there as well, but the woman was their only safe way out. Azry had to trust that she knew these woods enough to know how the horde moved. Alistair had lapsed back into silence, his excitement at the treaties seeming to be only a momentary distraction.

The forests eventually thinned out and gave way to clearings and farmland. There was a river snaking away in the distance, and the beginnings of an old road, decorated with arches. It was a little worse for wear, but the path looked direct. 

“The path will likely have bandits,” Morrigan said, as if reading Azry's thoughts. Perhaps that was an ability that both mother and daughter shared. Alistair made a scathing noise. Azry wondered if it was meant to sound like Morrigan was stating the obvious. He just sort of sounded like an angry cat. Mahariel, much further ahead, turned back at the noise, arching her eyebrow. Azry couldn't help but crack a smile.

“I think we can handle bandits,” Azry said, walking out to Mahariel. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly itching for a run. “Could you scout ahead?” Azry asked her, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the Dalish girl had taken off, long legs powering through the knee high grass, heading straight for the highway. 

“You sent her ahead. Why?” Morrigan asked. She had walked up behind Azry and was watching Mahariel's figure grow smaller. Azry turned to face her.

“She needed to run, or maybe get away from us for a bit. I don't think she'll go too far,” Azry said. She shifted her pack up a bit, trying to find a more comfortable spot for it. “How long before we get to Lothering?” She asked. Morrigan peered into the distance, as if she could see Mahariel as more than a silhouette. 

“We will be there by nightfall. As long as your fellow Warden keeps from falling on his sword in misery,” Morrigan replied, smirking over her shoulder at Alistair. The withering look he gave her could've felled a weaker person. Azry sighed, and walked out into the clearing, keeping her eyes fixed on the ruined highway. Just keep going forward, she told herself. Whatever happened between them can be dealt with later, just- just ignore it. 

She couldn't help the prickles she felt at her back, the feeling that while she couldn't see, they were trading looks like young children. Azry had to hold another sigh in, and kept her mind focused on Mahariel's far away shape. 

\--

Morrigan's estimate was right, and as the sun began to dip low in the sky, the small village was visible just on the horizon. Mahariel was leaning against a pillar, her brown eyes alert. Upon seeing them, she picked her pack up and swung it back on, walking up to Morrigan, who had since slung her staff onto her back, and walking beside her. Alistair had fallen into step beside Azry a little while ago, apparently escaping Morrigan's scathing glances. He pointed to the village, turning to smile at Azry. 

“That'll be it. Pretty as a painting,” he said. His voice was small and not the dry tone Azry was used to from him. There was a noise behind them that was like a choked animal and Azry stopped to raise her eyebrows at Morrigan. Her face was screwed up like she had smelt something horrible. 

“Why is it so surprising that I am upset to you? Have you never lost anyone important in your life?” Alistair said, exhasperation and anger clear in his words. Morrigan scoffed again. 

“Men you barely knew-”

“Because you know so much about what it takes to care for people.”

“I have no need of-”

“Enough!” Azry bellowed, standing in between them. Alistair huffed, and looked away, running a hand through hair and Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. Mahariel raised her eyebrows at Azry, surprise just glimmering in her eyes. “I get it. You two don't like each other. You've made it clear enough. But right now we're all kind of stuck together and I for one don't really want to listen to you bickering. When I'm out of earshot, go for your lives but right now please just restrain all your witty comments,” Azry said. Maker, it'd only been a few hours and she was already tired of it. How was the rest of this journey going to going to go with them fighting like siblings? 

“Adaia,” Alistair's voice was low and warning. Azry sighed. If he was about to pull rank on her she was going to slap him. She turned back to face him, snappy retort on her lips, but it died there as she saw a group of well armed men sauntering towards them, confident smiles on each of them. Alistair's hand was already on the pommel of his sword, and Azry quickly copied the motion. She stepped up next to him, sliding into a battle ready posture. She could hear Mahariel behind her, readying her bow. She wasn't sure what Morrigan was planning on doing to defend herself, but trusted the woman to do what she needed to. 

“What's the plan?” Alistair murmured. The group of men were drawing quite close. They were all wielding swords, Azry noted. Not a problem for her and Alistair, but they'd have to keep them back from Mahariel. She made a mental note to teach Mahariel some hand to hand at some stage. 

“If it comes to a fight, keep them away from Mahariel. I'll try and get behind them. What can Morrigan do?” She whispered back. 

“I'm a mage. I will make them tremble before they even unsheathe their swords,” Morrigan said, her confidence clear. 

“Okay, but if they do, keep back with Mahariel,” Azry said. Morrigan did not reply. Azry tried to take that as a good sign. The men stopped a short distance from them, one stepping forward and spreading his arms open, a sleazy grin in his face.

“More brave refugees come to seek shelter! Well, good sir and madams, Lothering will be your salvation just as soon as you pay a small tax,” the man said, his arms waving about expressively. Azry raised an eyebrow at him.

“I dunno, they don't look like refugees,” one of the other men said, looking worriedly at Alistair. Azry tried not to laugh at that. The apparent leader turned a decidedly more threatening smile on the worried man, hissing at him through clenched teeth. 

“It's not a refugee tax, is it? It's a tax to get into the town. Why would it matter if they were refugees or not?” 

The worried man's mouth dropped open and he nodded as realisation dawned on his face. He grinned and looked back at Alistair. “If you want into the town, you gotta pay the tax,” he said. Azry rolled her eyes. 

“If you're trying to scam us you're going to have to do better than that,” she said, crossing her arms and relaxing her stance. She doubted these idiots had the finesse to beat her in a fight whether she was battle ready or not. The leader's eyes barely flicked over her before turning back on Alistair. 

“Rather suspicious help you have, good sir,” he said, sounding almost disappointed. Alistair's concerned face became vastly unimpressed.

“She's not my help and you aren't making a very good case for your tax by disrespecting her, obviously-not-con-men,” he said. Azry smirked. The leader's frown deepened, and he let out a theatrical sigh. His hand moved to his own sword, clasping the hilt in what was probably meant to be a show of strength or intimidation. Azry wrapped her hands around both of her swords in reply, locking eyes with one of the other men behind him and glaring. The man flinched slightly and she grinned. It was good to know she hadn't lost her touch. 

“Sir, I really must insist that you pay it. Unfortunately for you, your options are slim outside of that,” the leader said, drawing his sword. Azry could hear the slight creak as Mahariel readied an arrow. This was going to get ugly, fast, unless Azry got behind the group of bandits. Getting out without a fight no longer seemed like an option. Alistair glanced down at her as she looked up at him, and she tightened her grip on her swords. Alistair's eyes glinted in recognition and he turned back to the leader, drawing his own sword.

“We aren't paying it. Now, are we free to turn around and go back?” He asked, taking a step back. Almost immediately the two men behind the leader had arrows trained on him. How had she not seen their bows? There were soft footfalls behind them and Azry turned to see two more archers that had somehow snuck around and had arrows trained on Morrigan and Mahariel, whose arrow was still aimed at the leader. He would go down fast and maybe the rest would scatter. That may be a little too optimistic, Azry through, unsheathing her swords and sliding her foot back into a ready stance. 

“That's a shame. Well, more bodies between us and the darkspawn then,” the leader said, grinning. The men either side of him drew their swords, Alistair pulled his shield from his pack and then all of a sudden there was loud, furious barking, and Azry turned to see a huge, furry dog with teeth bared launch itself at the archer closest to Mahariel, tackling him to the ground and ripping his throat out, cutting off the screams as quickly as they started. That made Mahariel and Morrigan spring into action immediately, Mahariel loosing her arrow at the leader, who dodged it by a mere breath and Morrigan summoning lightning to her hands and flinging it at the archer closest to her. Azry turned her attention fully back to the battle, catching a blow on her sword and spinning to the left of her attacker, bringing her second sword down on his knees, making him collapse. She quickly struck his temple with the pommel of her sword and ran for the archer behind him, slashing her swords across his chest before he could bring up his bow. She saw Alistair shove the other archer into a stone column. knocking him out and then as one they both turned and pointed their swords at the leader, who had already dropped his sword and was whimpering as Mahariel and Morrigan closed in, Mahariel's bow trained on his face and Morrigan's hands crackling with energy. The dog, blood dripping from its muzzle growled from behind them, ready to pounce. 

“More bodies between us and the darkspawn indeed!” Alistair said. The leader whimpered again, flinching as the dog's growls grew louder. 

“Hush!” Azry called to it, and surprisingly, it obeyed, immediately quieting and sitting down. It looked as if it was waiting patiently for its next order. Azry pushed that aside, saving her reaction for later and focusing on the cowering man in front of her. He was scrambling to turn out his pockets, digging through them and eventually flung a bag at Alistair. He caught it and the coins inside clinked together heavily. 

“That's all of it, I swear. Please, please don't kill me!” The bandit begged, his voice wavering and his hands shaking. Azry scoffed, and gestured to the broken boxes and the worn down cart that was half barring the way into Lothering.

“How many people have you conned? How many lost their livelihoods? How many died?” She said, pushing the tip of her sword into his neck, just enough to hurt. Tears welled up in the man's eyes and as he swallowed, the sword went deep enough to just break the skin. 

“There's probably a hundred silvers in here,” Alistair said, his voice oddly dark. Azry saw the look of disgust on his face and made up her mind.

“Well. That's more than a few refugees would have. Plus all of these belongings. I daresay there will be a few bodies littered amongst that mess too,” she said, gripping her sword a little tighter. “What's one more?” 

The bandit was sobbing, begging through the sharp breaths with a broken, terrified voice. Azry looked up at Mahariel and nodded at the man. The returned her arrow to her quiver and slung her bow over her back. She then grabbed the man's hair, yanking it back so his throat was exposed, her face in its customary distaste. The man could not choke out another 'please' before Azry sunk her blade into his throat, sliding it in and out quickly, blood bubbling to the surface and spilling down. His eyes widened in surprise and then Mahariel let him go and he slumped forward, blood pooling underneath him. 

Azry wiped her blade on his trousers and sheathed both her swords. Alistair was still regarding the bag of coins like it was a severed head. 

“How long do you think they've been here? Robbing people?” He asked, looking at Azry. She shrugged. 

“Long enough to have a system in place,” She said, nudging the corpse of the archer she killed with her foot. There was a burn on his arm that didn't look like it was caused by fire, and that triggered the reactions she had been shoving aside to charge into her mind. She spun quickly and stared at Morrigan, the young woman's hands no longer cradling lightning, who looked incredibly bored. “Morrigan- you-” Azry began, and Morrigan grinning menacingly at her. 

“Impressed, were we?” She said. Azry heard Alistair scoff. 

“I- I mean I saw apostates being taken from the Alienage and sometimes there would be a bit of magic or whatever but you were throwing lighting around!” Azry said, not hiding her amazement at all. 

“You saw that mage at the Tower of Ishal throwing fire around,” Alistair said, but Azry flapped a hand at him to shut him up. 

“Whatever, other things on my mind then,” Azry said. Alistair made a huffing noise and turned away, walking to the piled belongings. Mahariel followed suit, going through the pockets of the bandits as she went. Morrigan smiled at Azry again, this time a little less like a predator. 

“I'll make sure next time to show you something better,” she said, following Mahariel. Azry watched her go, and had to stop herself from questioning her on the something better. The dog chose that moment to whine loudly, sounding like he was afraid he'd been forgotten. 

“I'm sorry, thank you for your help,” Azry said soothingly, dropping onto one knee with her hand out. The dog immediately jogged over to her, ignoring her hand entirely and butting her chest with his head, nuzzling into her. She laughed and ruffled the fur around his neck, her hand ghosting over a lump. A very long lump, she noticed, running her hand down the length of it, only stopping when she couldn't reach any further down. She moved away from the dog and stood up, and could see a long, oddly shaped scar running from the dog's shoulders to just before his tail. She touched it lightly again, and remembered the dog that she had found in the Wilds, cut open by a darkspawn blade. She looked down at the dog, and he licked her hand, his eyes filled with adoration. 

“Are you the one we found in that swamp?” She asked, feeling a little foolish for speaking to him, but he seemed to understand her, and buried his head under her hand, whining happily. Azry scratched his head a few times, grinning. “You found us,” she murmured to him, bending down again to ruffle his fur again, this time with both her hands threaded through his long fur. He closed his eyes in bliss, his back leg thumping in time to her pets. Blood was still thick in his muzzle, and Azry tutted. “Let's clean that off, shall we?” She cooed, leaning around the dog to tear part off the bandit leader's shirt and began rubbing the blood from the dog's fur. When she was done, there was still a slight pink tinge left behind that the dog was only too happy to lick. “Ergh,” Azry scoffed.

“Adaia! You coming?” Alistair called out.

“Yeah, just a second,” Azry replied, giving the dog a few last scratches before standing. She looked down at him and he looked at her, and his eyes were oddly determined. “You coming too?” She asked him and he stood up immediately, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a dog smile. She couldn't help but smile back. “Come on then,” she said, walking past all the sprawled corpses and around the broken boxes, the dog trotting along behind her. As she caught up to the rest of the group, Alistair turned, his mouth opening with words but instead gasping as his eyes lit up. 

“Is that the same mabari that we found?” He asked, childlike glee in his voice and all over his face. Azry nodded, grinning back. Alistair gasped again and dropped to his knees as the dog bounded up to him, licking his face thoroughly. Alistair laughed, rubbing his hands all over the dog's face and neck, looking happier than she'd ever seen him.

Morrigan made a scathing noise and Azry rolled her eyes. “Of course you don't like dogs,” she said, turned to look at the mage. 

“Slobbering mangy beasts. I see no redeeming qualities,” Morrigan growled. Azry did not miss how emphatically Mahariel was nodding behind her, her hands twitching towards her bow.

“He's not mangy!” Alistair gasped, hugging the dog, whose tail was wagging madly. “Don't listen to mean mage, she's never had any joy in her life, clearly,” he said, kissing the dog's head. Morrigan made a retching noise that made Azry laugh. 

“Joy? From a walking fleabag?” She shot back, crossing her arms. 

“It seems we are divided on the dog,” Azry said, laughing at Mahariel's deep frown. “Well, I'm going to keep him. He came all this way to find us.”

“Yes! You hear that? You're going to come with us! On an adventure!” Alistair said, simpering to the dog. He barked happily and resumed licking every inch of Alistair's face. Mahariel, apparently unable to stand any more of the scene, stalked off, walking down to the angled section off the road, Morrigan following after shooting Alistair one last disgusted look. 

“Hold on! We've got to decide a plan before you go- and they're gone,” Azry said, sighing. Alistair gave the dog one last cuddle and stood, shrugging as he moved next to Azry.

“Cracking a smile would ruin their wild women of the forest façades. Maker forbid someone think they're capable of emotion,” he said, and Azry smirked at him. He smiled back and then turned his gaze on the village below them. One half was the village proper, the Chantry the largest building there and towering over all the ramshackle looking houses, and the other half was a collection of tents and makeshift lean-tos. People were standing in groups around fires or lying on whatever bit of ground they could, a few fortunate ones even having bedrolls. The pack on Azry's back, filled as it was with changes of clothes, food and water and with a blanket tied securely to it, suddenly felt very heavy. 

“There's so many of them,” Alistair said. His voice had the heavy tone back in it. 

“They don't even know what's coming, do they?” Azry replied. Alistair didn't answer. 

The dog slipped under her hand again, nuzzling into her side. The huge thing nearly came up to her armpit. Azry smiled softly, comforted a little by the warm presence, as superficial as it was. Alistair nudged her, gesturing towards the road into the village, and Azry could see Mahariel coming back the way she had apparently come, her head nodded back towards her. 

“She's gesturing for us to follow. She must've heard something,” Azry said, and with the dog trotting behind her she walked down the road and back onto earth, making her way straight to Mahariel. The girl's face was thunderous. 

“Wow. That's the maddest I think I've ever seen you,” Alistair remarked, sounding a little scared. Azry couldn't blame him.

“They're blaming us,” Mahariel said, every word dripping with disgust. 

“What? Blaming us for what?” Alistair asked, and before Mahariel could reply, a crier began to bellow.

“If anyone should have any information regarding surviving Grey Wardens, they are to speak with Captain Tylson in the tavern. Any information that leads to the capture of the killers of King Cailan will be rewarded,” the man called, and Azry felt a cold rush of rage flood her body. Mahariel's eyes had darkened, a familiar anger building in the way she held her body. Azry turned to express bee disgust to Alistair, but fell silent at seeing him. 

Alistair's face had gone white, his eyes wide with shock. His mouth opened and closed, unable to get any words out. Azry did not blame him for his speechlessness. Of all of them, he had the most right to be horrified. His chest heaved with every breath and then suddenly his legs seemed to give out. Azry quickly caught his arm and tried to steady him, using all of her strength to pull him back upright. She wasn't weak by any means, but Alistair was a near deadweight of warrior muscle. His hands found her shoulders and gripped them tight, his arms shaking with the effort. Azry knew she'd probably have bruises but didn't care. The dog whined, nudging Alistair's legs. Azry looked around and saw a few small benches set up around a tree. 

“Here, there's a bench, let me just- here,” she said, rearranging them so that her arm was wound around his waist, under his pack, his around her shoulders and she could prop him up a little and lead him to it. She gently sat him down and then crouched in front of him. He was still as white as a ghost, one hand threaded through his hair. The dog sat next to Azry, worry in his eyes. Azry hesitatingly rested her hand on Alistair's knee, not really sure how to comfort him. He didn't move at all. His breathing still came heavily. Azry turned to look at Mahariel. The Dalish girl shrugged, jerking her head towards the village. Azry nodded up towards the Templars standing guard and Mahariel bobbed her head, acknowledging, before she went back the way she came. Azry made a move to stand, but Alistair's hand shot out, gripping her hand that was still on his knee.

“...just a moment. Please,” he mumbled, his hand gripping hers as firmly as his shaking hand could. 

“...okay,” Azry said after a moment, crouching back down. Her eyes met his and she saw tears brimming in his eyes. He looked wretched. She turned her hand in his, curling her fingers around his hand. His was much larger than hers, but they were both worn, rough with years of swordplay. His fingers tightened around her hand and his breathing broke around a sob that she pretended not to hear. The dog rested his head on top of their joined hands, huffing slightly. Azry wasn't sure what else to do. She didn't feel the loss of Duncan as keenly as he did, and so her anger was directed just at the very idea she was the reason Ostagar failed. For Alistair- 

For Alistair, this was his family being blamed. The people that had given him purpose and a place to belong. Azry could understand that even if she didn't feel it. Her chest felt tight thinking about it, filled with sympathy for the young man. They sat there for some time, Alistair finally wiping the hand that had been in his hair down his face, taking a few deep breaths in. 

“I'm sorry. It's ridiculous- I mean we were warned-” he went to say, but Azry cut him off.

“Grief isn't ridiculous. They were important to you. Take as much time as you need,” she replied, trying not to wince at her forceful tone. Alistair looked at her then, his gaze relieved and thankful, even if his eyes were still sorrowful. Azry felt something ghost across her fingers, the gentlest sweeping of his thumb, and tried to not react, despite her heart thumping painfully. 

“I- thank you. You didn't have to...you could've- just, thank you,” Alistair stammered out. Azry half smiled at him, pretending that her chest didn't tighten again as his smile met his eyes. She pulled her hand away from his, the dog lifting his head helpfully, and patted Alistair's knee, a little awkwardly. 

“Well, I couldn't leave you on your own. Humans are rather hopeless,” she said, attempting a joke despite her voice falling flat. Alistair smiled though, and gestured at himself with a roll of his eyes. She half smiled and turned back to face the road into Lothering. Andraste's tits, she really was getting tired of Alistair and his wall breaking ways. For so long she lumped all humans together, all of them to be avoided, not to be trusted and yet here she was making exceptions for him. She ran her hands down her face with a sigh. Maybe she could make him a Grey Warden exception. Or something. 

Before her internal screaming could become actual screaming, Alistair stood up and let out a breath, stepping next to her. He gestured to the road and Azry nodded.

“You're gonna be all right?” She asked before she could stop herself. Alistair's eyes were unbearably soft as he looked at her.

“For now, I think so. I'll try to not burst into dramatic tears again any time soon,” he quipped. Azry couldn't help but smile at that, Maker damn it. 

\--

They caught up to Mahariel and Morrigan just outside Lothering, where they had tucked themselves into an alley between two houses. Morrigan had wrapped a blanket over herself, and was scowling at something just past Azry and Alistair. Mahariel was pacing, her hands tight around her bow. 

“What's wrong?” Azry asked once they reached them. Morrigan's scowl deepened as the dog trotted up to them, making happy little huffs while his tongue dangled from his mouth. 

“Joy of joys. A drooling pony come to breathe on me,” she said, glaring at the dog. Azry had to agree with the statement on his size. Morrigan turned the same scowl on Alistair. “Are you done swooning now? Or must we wait even longer for you to finish weeping?” She hissed and Alistair bristled.

“What is so difficult to understand about- people I cared about have died and are being blamed for something entirely out of their control! Yes, I am sad about it! Wouldn't you be sad if your mother died?” Alistair said angrily. 

“Before or after I stopped laughing?” Morrigan barked back. Alistair looked appalled.

“All right then!” Azry yelled before Alistair could reply. “Morrigan, stop antagonising Alistair. Alistair stop responding to Morrigan, you're only giving her what she wants,” she said, and Alistair looked suitably shamed while Morrigan sniffed and looked away. Azry sighed loudly. “Now, what is wrong? Why does Mahariel look like she's about to punch a wall down?” 

“The templars aren't letting anyone through the village,” Morrigan said, wrapping her blanket a little tighter around her. “I explained that the road couldn't be crossed, that we needed to go through the village but they told us to return to the refugee camp.” 

“Seeing as both you and Mahariel look like you'd rather set the entire place on fire, I'm not surprised they turned you away,” Azry drawled. Morrigan glared at her, but said nothing. Azry looked up at the offending templar, standing just inside of the very flimsy looking wooden palisade that separated the village from the refugee camp. She turned back to the group, looking at Mahariel, Morrigan and finally Alistair. He met her eyes, his expression confused, and Azry cocked her head.

“Well, there's no other choice. Alistair, you'll have to get us in,” she said. Alistair looked at the templar, then back at Azry, shaking his head.

“I can't!”  
“Why not?”

“I'm not very good at convincing anyone to do anything,” he said, lamely. Azry raised her eyebrows.

“Entirety of Ferelden at stake here,” she said, deadpanning. Alistair sighed.

“Fine. How am I convincing him?” He asked.

“Have you already forgotten the bandits we just killed? Is your memory that awful?” Morrigan replied, and Alistair went to reply but Azry nudged him and silenced him with a glare. 

“I'll head down to the refugee camp, hand out the coins, try to garner some support, you take grumpy and grumpy and I'll meet you at the tavern. We need to find out what this Captain knows about us,” Azry said, and Alistair's lip twitched into a slight smile. Morrigan sighed again, but coiled her arm around Mahariel and steered her out of the alley. Alistair gave Azry the bag of coins and Azry pretended not to notice the way his fingers lingered slightly, before he turned and walked up the slight hill to the templar. Azry took in a single deep breath and let it out in a rush. Ignore it, put it aside, it didn't happen, she chided herself, walking back the way she'd come, whistling for the dog to follow after her. 

Maker, she barely knew Alistair. The events of Ostagar had thrown them together and their shared experience gave them a bond but she knew nothing about the person. She knew he was witty and felt things deeply and had once been a templar but those things barely scrape the surface of what truly makes up a person. She sighed, threading her fingers through the fur on the dog's head. She was tired of all her own out of character behaviour. Maybe that hit on the head did more damage than Flemeth could fix, she joked to herself. 

She dragged a hand over her face, trying again to feel any lump or bruise or cut, but could once again feel nothing but her own skin. She wondered for a moment if she'd even recognise herself if she looked in a mirror. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling knots and tangles and how dry it was. None of Shianni's magic poultices out here. 

Her heart gave a pang to think about Shianni. To think about her home. Rather than dwell on those thoughts, she turned her full attention to the refugees, all watching her approach, some murmuring to each other, some too tired to give her more than a passing glance. A few looked hopefully at her, and did not fail to notice that most of them were elves. She went to a small family of them first, the young girl's tired face grinning when she saw the dog. 

“Hello,” Azry said as she reached them, smiling as gently as she could. The dog sat next to her, and the girl approached him cautiously, her hand stretched out. He sniffed her hand and then licked it, and the girl giggling, her hands going straight into his fur. “I think my dog has made a new friend,” Azry said to the parents. They were both smiling at her, the girl's mother looking on the verge of tears.

“She hasn't smiled like that in days. Thank you so much,” she said, clasping her hands together. Azry smiled at them. 

“I know how she feels. Hard to be optimistic isn't it?” She returned. The father nodded, looking worn out. 

“The bandits- they took everything. Even her lamb. She hasn't had much to smile about,” he said, and Azry's heart ached for them. “Nobody wants to help the knife-ears. Even when it would help them too,” he said bitterly. 

“Well, you're in luck,” Azry said, seeing surprise and apprehension on their faces. “They bandits are dead and all the stuff they stole is still on the road. Your belongings should still be amongst it.”

“You- Did you kill them?” The mother asked, tears actually falling from her eyes now. Azry nodded and the father let out a bark of laughter. He enveloped Azry in his arms and hugged her, his wife wrapping her arms around her too. “Thank you, oh, we have to go, we have to find our things,” she said, pulling away from Azry after kissing her cheek. After another moment the father did the same, then picked his daughter up and slung her onto his back. 

“Thank you, thank you so much, you don't know what this means to us,” he said, smiling at Azry. She pulled out the coin purse, and pulled out a handful, dropping them into the mother's hands. 

“I do. More than you think,” she said, wrapping the mother's hands around the money, smiling. She left them, moving off to another group. 

Slowly, Azry made her way around the camp, handing out the coins and directing the refugees to the road. The smiles and hugs she got in return were worth more than she could ever say to them. A worn out elven father of four energetic children tweaked Azry's ear fondly after holding her closely, and Azry's eyes nearly welled as she could remember her father doing the same. She watched a group of refugees walk up the hill, and felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun and saw a young elven girl, only a little older than Mahariel, worry clear on her face as she but her bottom lip.

“Are you all right?” Azry asked, gripping the girl's shoulder. The girl looked around frantically, scanning the area. The look of fear made goosebumps rise on Azry's neck. 

“They're looking for you, or at least someone by your description, though they did say her face was heavily scarred. They nearly dragged off one if the other girls, except when they checked she didn't have the Warden mark,” the girl said, wringing her hands. Azry looked up towards the village, her stomach tightening with anxiety. If they knew what she looked like-

“Was there anyone else being described?” She asked the girl. She nodded emphatically in reply. 

“Another elf, except tall with dark skin and hair, and a man with fair skin, with ginger blonde hair and bit of stubble. They said they'd be armed. People are desperate, they're offering a big reward for you,” the girl said, and Azry hugged her quickly. 

“Thank you so much. I promise I'll find a way to repay you,” Azry said, and the girl shook her head, hugging Azry back hard. 

“You've done enough. I'll make sure the others don't rat you out,” she said, pulling away from Azry and running up the path the other refugees took back to the road. Azry watched her, making sure she got there safely. She turned to the dog, who was also watching the elven girl with determined eyes, and bent down to be eye level with him. He looked at her, and Azry could see just how much he could understand the situation. However did they make dogs so clever?

“Get to Alistair and Mahariel. Make sure they don't touch them, okay? Like with the bandits before,” she said, scratching his head. He blissfully closed his eyes for a moment, before shaking his body and tearing back through the camp, barking at the templars that stood guard. They barely glanced at the passing animal. More respect for dogs than elves, Azry thought tiredly to herself, and then followed the path the dog took, running back to the village. Her heart was pumping furiously, terror for her companions sparking adrenaline through her body. The Chantry came into view and she could see a bridge and a large building beyond it, smoke swirling into the sky. Azry guessed that it may be the tavern, but before she could head to it, a templar stood in her path and called out for her to halt. Cursing in her head, Azry slowed to a stop in front of him. 

“Please, I need to get to-”

“No one is to enter the village. We are full. Go back to the refugee camp,” the man said, his muffled voice bored. Azry nearly swore at him, worry making her angry, but she centered herself, taking in a breath. She then put her best downtrodden elf face on, and stared pleadingly at the man's helmet. 

“Please, my master is at the tavern. He bid me return after I gave out money to the refugees. He will be so cross if I do not go to him promptly,” she said, trying to make herself sound as intimidated as she could. The simpering elf servant was a role she'd had to play many times, much to her frustration. 

The man regarded her for a moment, before calling over a more lightly armoured templar. “Take her to the tavern, and when she points out her master, ask them if her story is true. Otherwise, take her straight back to the camp,” he ordered, and the other templar nodded. 

“Yes, ser,” he said, gripping Azry's arm. She had to hold in the urge to shake him off. “Come with me,” he said, his voice wobbling a little through the stern tone. 

“Thank you, messere,” Azry said to the first templar, who did not even turn to face her. A typical reaction. 

The younger templar did not lessen his grip on her arm, half dragging her over the bridge in his hurry. He was silent, and Azry made no attempt at conversation, preferring instead to take in the village proper. It was rather ramshackle, with most of the buildings in the village built into the back or side of another. It reminded her quite a lot of her alienage, except it was cleaner. More open. Less oppressive looking, what with being entirely open. There were a lot of the people gathering around various wagons or just piles of belongings, some weeping, some arguing. Most were just whispering to each other, looking scared and worn. Azry would've felt bad for them, if it weren't for the fact they were all very well looking humans and she had just come from a camp full of starving elves that had recently been robbed.

The young templar dragged her towards the very building she had assumed was the tavern, smoke pillowing from the chimney and a lot of men milling around outside, whispering to each other and gesturing wildly at nothing. All of this was quite normal, the only out of place thing being Alistair, Anwen, Morrigan and the dog standing with a red-headed Chantry sister and all of them wearing blood splatters. Azry gaped at them, standing so casually outside the inn, Morrigan leaning on her staff looking bored and Mahariel unstringing her bow. Alistair saw Azry first, and his face collapsed into pure relief, and began walking towards them. 

“That's him! My master. That's my master,” Azry said quickly, and loudly, making frantic eye contact with Alistair. He quickly schooled his face into something slightly sterner. Azry could not even remember how many times now that she had to hold in a sigh. 

“This elf says she's yours, that true?” The young templar said. Alistair pulled a face that Azry could only assume was supposed to intimating. 

“Yes- yes this is my elf. My elf servant. That is she works for me. Yes,” Alistair said. Azry hoped the templar holding her arm couldn't see her eye twitch with her desperate need to roll her eyes. The templar didn't seem to question it, yanking Azry so that she stumbled into Alistair, who caught her elbow, and held it only long enough for her to right herself. Despite herself, Azry felt like she regretted the short contact. 

The templar gestured at Alistair's blood splattered clothing. “You all right, sir?” He asked, sounding bored, rather than concerned. Alistair looked down, paling for a moment. Azry bit her lip, waiting for him to come up with his own reply at the same time as promising herself the next time she left his side for longer than a moment she would give him lessons on keeping his head down first. 

“Oh, this? Yeah, just a misunderstanding. This is mostly, you know, paint,” Alistair said, and he sounded oddly sure of himself. Apparently his witty one liners extended to actual excuses. Azry kept her face as neutral as possible. The templar regarded Alistair a moment, before bidding him good day and turning to go back the way he came. Azry waited until he was over the bridge to turn back to Alistair. He let out a huge sigh of relief and grabbed her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I'm not the one covered in blood,” Azry replied, looking over his shoulder at the rest of their group. The dog seemed very pleased with himself. “What the hell happened?” She asked incredulously. 

“Well, Loghain's soldiers happened, but first things first,” Alistair said, letting her shoulders go and striding back to the group, and gesturing for Azry to follow, which she did, though with great apprehension. She looked at Mahariel, giving her a questioning look. The girl rolled her eyes in response, and went back to unstringing her bow. Alistair wrapped an arm around her shoulders briefly, before taking the arm very quickly away, as if being scalded. 

“This is Leliana,” he said. Azry barely heard him, puzzling over his weird actions, but paid attention once her arms were full of a tall human, bright red hair clouding her vision.

“Oh, it's so good to meet you! Alistair has said so much already!” The woman said, her voice heavily accented, once she pulled back, grinning enthusiastically at Azry. Azry herself was still partially frozen in shock at Leliana's familiarity. 

“Only good things, I promise,” Alistair said, grinning nearly as widely as the Chantry sister. Morrigan groaned, the sound probably deafening Mahariel. Azry looked between Leliana and Alistair, partially confused but mostly concerned. 

“Okay, why am I being introduced to Leliana?” She asked Alistair, looking sideways at the other human, whose smile did not dim even one bit. Azry raised an eyebrow at her, beginning to feel more than concerned about the woman, who seemed very comfortable in her blood covered Chantry gown. 

“She helped us. Quite handy with a dagger actually. She wants to help us,” Alistair said. 

“I would very much like to help the Grey Wardens end the Blight,” Leliana chimed in, her voice chirpy and pleased. The tone made Azry doubt that anything else at this point would convince her of Leliana's lack of sanity, though she did take a moment to glare furiously at Alistair, who had the good grace to wither at it.

“You told her we were Grey Wardens? Though we have people looking specifically for us?” She hissed at him. “Oh, and thanks for announcing it to all and sundry,” she added to Leliana, and finally the smile faltered slightly. 

“Loghain's men were in there, they knew me already and just assumed that Morrigan and Mahariel were Wardens too,” Alistair explained, his hands worrying along the straps of his pack. Azry sighed. 

“There was an elf girl who warned me about them in the refugee camp. I guess the dog arrived as the fight broke out?” she said, and the dog gave an answering bark. 

“We felled a few, but the rest of them pleaded mercy. We sent them running with a message to Loghain that we know the truth,” Alistair said, his hands stilling and his voice becoming hard. Azry softened slightly, remembering their moment on the bench earlier. Not that it was a moment. Or anything really. In fact-

“Fine. You could've stabbed them in less bloodying ways, though,” Azry teased, forcibly stopping her brain before it exploded into overthinking. 

“Well, I like a dramatic sword fight. More likely to make maidens swoon, after all,” Alistair grinned back. Azry rolled her eyes, even as she heard Mahariel snort derisively.

“Because there are so many maidens that swoon in your vicinity,” Azry replied. “Nice of you to drag her into your attempts at wooing,” she said gesturing at Leliana.

“Oh, it was no trouble. I do so want to help you,” Leliana said, smiling brightly. Azry frowned, trying to scrutinise her.

“Why do you want to help us, Leliana?” Azry asked. The young woman took in a deep breath and clasped her hands together. She looked apprehensive, but there was so much hope in her eyes. Azry braced herself.

“The Maker told me to,” Leliana said slowly, her accent lilting and her tone cautious. 

The silence that followed her comment was solid enough that Azry could've slid her mother's dagger through it. 

“Er...” Alistair offered, looking very much out of his element. Azry couldn't blame him. It was one of the battiest things she'd ever heard. Leliana sighed.

“I know it sounds crazy, but he did. I had a dream and- well, it told me that sitting in a Chantry wasn't going to stop the Blight. And after you all turn up, and I can only think that it is the Maker's plan that I help!” Leliana said quickly, the hope in her eyes being replaced by desperation. Azry gave Alistair a sideways look. 

“I thought we were full up on crazy,” she hissed to him. He shrugged helplessly. 

“She is a very good fighter,” he replied, lamely.

“I'm much better with a bow and arrow,” Leliana added, and Azry took in the sheathed daggers hanging from her belt. 

“We have an archer. I'm good at daggers. Why should we take you?” Azry asked, hoping that the woman would just take the hint and leave. Leliana's expression became more steely, and Azry took half a step back.

“You need help. I can give it. I will pull my own weight and do whatever I can to help. Surely you would not turn down a willing volunteer?” Leliana said. Azry was surprised at the determination in her tone.

“It's not going to be like living in a Chantry,” Azry tried, knowing she was scraping the bottom of the barrel for excuses. She could see that Leliana knew it too. 

“I lived more years on the road than in a Chantry. I'm sure I'll survive,” she said confidently. Azry looked up at Alistair. He shrugged, but smiled and nodded at Leliana. Azry didn't bother to see Mahariel and Morrigan's expressions, knowing exactly what they would be. 

“Dog? What do you think?” She said, and the mabari trotted up to Leliana, sniffed her, and with a happy bark starting butting into her legs until, with a laugh, she sank to her knees and ruffled his fur. The last rays of sun caught along Leliana's bright red hair, reminding Azry of her cousins. Her heart clenched painfully, making her have to look away. There were too many memories she paired with sunset streaked skies, red hair and laughter. 

“Well, that is a glowing testimony,” Alistair laughed. Azry grunted in reply, running a hand through her unruly blonde hair. 

“Mabari are supposed to be smart, so I suppose that means you aren't as insane as you sound,” Azry said finally, turning back to Leliana. “And you're right. We will need help.”

“Perhaps you hit your head worse than mother thought,” Morrigan chimed in. Azry spared her a withering look, but couldn't say anything else as Leliana had launched herself at Azry again, hugging her tightly with excited noises bubbling from her. 

“Oh, thank you! Wait here, I will return to the Chantry and collect my things,” Leliana exclaimed, letting Azry go, only to leap at Alistair with the same enthusiasm. Alistair laughed and patted her on the back, coughing as she let go and grinned at them both. Then she was gone, striding over the bridge and heading straight for the Chantry. 

“Well, she's excited,” Azry commented. Morrigan's scowl spoke for her, as did Mahariel's furious silence. “So they're unhappy and Alistair and the dog are happy. Gosh, team voting is going to be easy. I can already predict it,” Azry deadpanned. Alistair chortled. “So, with the drama finished, I can assume that we have rooms at the tavern? Or a soft bit of floor?” Azry asked them all. The silence she got in reply was telling. 

“We...were kind of thrown out. Post battle,” Alistair offered, broadcasting clearly just how ashamed he was in his tone and posture, one hand running through his hair and the other once again worrying down his straps. Azry wondered if his armour suffered the same care as the pack. 

“Right. Excellent,” she sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. 

“There's always the woods. There are a few clearings outside Lothering that would make fine camps,” Morrigan added. 

“It's going to be dark in minutes. Making a camp in the dark is not a good idea,” Azry replied shortly. She was trying not to sound exhausted, but truth be told she had only been a Grey Warden for little over a week and she was ready to run screaming to anywhere sunny. Morrigan scoffed.

“If it is light you need, it is light I can provide,” she said, and before Azry could joke about her reversing time, the slightest sliver of flame licked its way up Morrigan's staff, extinguishing itself before it caught the attention of anyone else. Azry clamped her mouth shut and nodded.

“Camping it is,” she sighed. A few times she had slept under the stars in the alienage, and while it was not pleasant, there was never the risk of wild animals or darkspawn emerging to rip her to shreds. Mahariel, at least, seemed pleased with the arrangement. She looked like she was ready to leave, her bow already tucked snugly on her back, her quiver of arrows covered by a cloth and her legs almost vibrating with the need to move. She looked up at Azry, a question in her eyes. Azry shook her head, smiling apologetically at her. 

“We need everyone together for now. No running off,” Azry said. Mahariel huffed in reply, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. Azry sighed, wondering if she would ever find the right thing to say to the girl. 

“We managed to buy some supplies before we were thrown out,” Alistair said, pulling his pack off and opening it. Azry looked in and saw fresh and dried rations stored inside a small cooking pot. She nodded, giving him a half smile in thanks, that he returned quite enthusiastically. 

\--

As the last sunlight began to fade, dusk settling over the little village, Leliana still hadn't returned, Morrigan and Mahariel had become noticeably restless. Mahariel had taken to sitting on the stone wall nearest the bridge, glaring at anyone who dared to come near, hissing at the man who tried to light the lantern near her. Azry could've sworn she was smiling as he stumbled away. Morrigan, who had been changing between leaning against the tavern wall and her staff, final let out a long sigh, glaring at Azry and Alistair, both sitting on the other side of the tavern door, Alistair rearranging the items in his pack while Azry watched, her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the cold. The dog was lying at her feet, huffing every so often. Azry felt a prickle on the back of her neck and turned to look at Morrigan, resisting the urge to keep watching the methodical way Alistair unpacked and repacked food. 

“We are leaving now, yes? We aren't waiting any longer for the Sister to come back?” Morrigan asked, her lips curling with disgust. She had replaced the blanket she had been wearing in her own pack, and Azry wondered how her tiny amount of clothing kept her warm enough for her not to shiver even once. 

“Of course we're waiting for her, she helped us and wants to continue helping us, unlike someone else in present company,” Alistair scoffed. Morrigan turned a glare on him, but thankfully said nothing. Azry rolled her eyes.

“I'm going to get lightheaded from all the sighing I have done,” she said. Morrigan smirked at that.  
“Are we exasperating you?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice. Azry bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at the mage. 

“Not to interrupt this thrilling conversation, but do you think he needs help?” Alistair said, pointing over into the village proper. Azry followed his gaze and saw a young man, leaning on a fence post, the grimace on his face thrown into sharp relief from the lit latern near him. He was clutching his side, his chest heaving with every breath. Blood was splattered across his damaged plate armour and the huge sword strapped to his back. Alistair turned to look at Azry, raising his eyebrows. Azry watched the young man struggle to stand straight, falling again onto the fence, a soundless gasp coming to his lips. The dog turned his head and looked at her. the brown depths looking so very sad. She threw her hands up in surrender. 

“From despising every human I meet to helping them within two weeks,” she mumbled angrily to herself, standing relunctantly, shivering as the cold wind ruffled her tunic. Alistair bounded upright, swinging his pack on and the dog stood up just as quickly, barking in excitement. Morrigan looked at them, giving Azry a thoroughly disapproving look. 

“I'm not-” she began, but Azry cut in quickly.  
“No, you're not. You're going to wait here for Leliana and then when she returns, you're going to wait here for us,” she said, glaring at Morrigan until the mage surrendered, leaning back against the tavern wall. Mahariel gave Azry one of her infamously disgusted looks, but didn't move from her position perched on the stone wall. “Let's go save lives,” Azry drawled to Alistair. He grinned at her, setting off towards the man and Azry followed behind, rolling her eyes. The dog trotted after them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Azry stopped and faced the dog, and he gave a whine as if he knew what was coming, his eyes pleading.  
“No. Go back to the others. They need you to watch them,” she commanded. He howled mournfully, and slumped back to the others. 

“Mean,” Alistair scolded her. She poked her tongue at him. 

The closer they got to the man, the worse he appeared off. He had barely managed to move along the fence and seemed more frustrated than injured. Even in the flickering lamplight the shadows under his eyes were pronounced and Azry could hear the labour in his breathing as well as see it. He didn't seem to notice them, even when they were close behind him. It wasn't until Alistair reached out and gently touched his shoulder that he spun, a hand on his sword. His face, younger than Alistair's, contorted with pain for a moment, and from this close Azry could see the wound he had been nursing on his side. It looked like a jagged sword had just managed to pierce the gap between chest and back on his cuirass. The straps must've been digging into it as he walked. 

“Are you all right?” Alistair said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. The young man barely gave him a glance, staring at Azry warily. 

“Why are you staring at me?” He shot at her, grimacing again, his hand returning to clutch at his side. 

“Your wound. It looks fairly fresh so it can't be the reason you're covered in blood,” Azry said, staring back at him. He didn't wither one bit under her gaze and Azry could not decide if she was annoyed or impressed by that. 

“We saw you struggling. We just wanted to offer assistance, if we can. I have bandages if you need,” Alistair said, his tone soft and his posture open, like he was calming an angry beast. The young man gave Alistair a scrutinizing look, and after a moment relented his battle ready stance, sinking back onto the fence. 

“I don't need them. I just need to get home,” he said, already trying to inch back along the fence. Alistair went to help him, but Azry stopped him. 

“Give me your pack, I'll carry it while you get him,” she said, already tugging it off. Alistair slid the straps off and helped it onto her, smiling rather proudly at her. She gave him an unimpressed look in return and he laughed it off, going up to the young man, and threading himself under the young man's uninjured side, wrapping an arm securely under his shoulder. 

“I don't need your help,” the young man said, but clung to Alistair, hissing in breath as Alistair helped him move faster. 

“Where's your house?” Alistair asked, wrapping the man's arm around his neck and standing straighter, trying to compensate for the taller man, or boy, really. He couldn't be much older than Mahariel, Azry thought to herself. She shuffled a bit, trying to adjust to the added weight while the young man pointed out a farmhouse, just beyond the village. “I'm Alistair, and that's Adaia,” Alistair said, and the young man looked over his shoulder. Azry gave him a wave and he turned back. 

“I'm Carver,” he said finally. 

“Nice to meet you. You got someone to look after your side?” Alistair continued. Azry saw him dig his fingers tighter into Carver's arm. He must've been drifting off. His hand, which had slackened, tightened slightly over his wound. Azry tried to shove down the note of worry that had risen in her. Alistair was taking care of him, she was just helping Alistair carry his things. 

“Yeah- my brother. He's a he- he's good with this stuff,” Carver said, his voice sounding tired and strained. Azry could see Alistair's forehead lined with worry as they passed the last lamp before the archway leading out into the farmland beyond. Night had well and truly fallen, the moon only providing a sliver of light. Azry hoped Alistair could see where he was going, he was half-carrying Carver now. 

“Your brother? Older or younger?” Alistair asked. Azry realised he was trying to keep Carver talking, keep him conscious. He must be worse off than Azry could see. 

“Older. Older brother and sis- and I have a twin. Beth,” Carver said. Azry nearly winced with how tired he sounded. How far had he come with that wound? The only battle she could think of was-

“You were at Ostagar, weren't you?” She asked. 

“Yes. Part of the King's army,” he replied, and despite the exhaustion in his voice, he sounded proud. Azry remembered Flemeth telling her about Loghain leaving the battle, how worn Alistair looked as he sunk to the floor of the hut. She hadn't given a thought to the soldier's in the King's army. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, and was surprised by how much she meant it. Carver didn't reply, and Alistair made no further attempt at talking. They walked in silence, slow in the darkness with the light from the small farmhouse their only guide. Azry kept imagining what Carver's flight from the doomed battle must've been like, wounded as he was and how far they were now from the ruins. He was lucky he wasn't also tainted; the sword that wounded him could've only been a darkspawn's. Alistair seemed to have the same thought.

“Your wound, that's from a darkspawn, isn't it?” He asked, gently. Carver let out a long breath, and Azry bit her lip, hoping he wasn't about to die on them, so close to his home. 

“Yeah- I'm...not tainted though. I saw it happen to other soldiers,” he said, slowly and so quietly Azry could only just hear it.

“No, I know that. You'd have a mark by now,” Alistair replied. 

Anything else Carver was going to say, if he was going to say anything at all was cut off by a door slamming open and a woman's scream of his name. She came tearing out of the house, grey hair mussed and a coat thrown haphazardly over a muslin shift. A man, most likely Azry's age and with Carver's dark hair was close behind the woman, and a third person, a girl that looked startlingly like Carver but with softer features stood at the door, her hands over her mouth and her dark eyes full of tears. 

“Carver! Carver, my baby boy,” the woman sobbed as she reached them, her hands cupping her son's face and kissing it, crying the whole time. The man stood behind her, tears running down his cheeks. He valiantly tried to scrub them away with the sleeves of his tunic. Alistair carefully stepped out from under Carver's arm, and the man, Carver's brother, quickly took his place, gripping Alistair's shoulder in thanks. The woman reached out and pulled Alistair to her, wrapping one arm around him and hugging him tightly, while keeping the other on her son's face. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she wept. Alistair patted her back, blushing furiously at her thanks. 

“I couldn't just let him bleed out so close to home,” he said, blushing even more as he realised what he said. The woman, seemingly unaffected, gave a watery chuckle. She kissed his cheek, and Alistair looked so shocked that Azry nearly laughed. 

“We thought he was dead, oh Carver, we prayed every day for you and Lora. Every day,” the woman said, cupping her son's face again, running her fingers over his cheeks as if she couldn't believe he was right in front of her. His brother kept tightening his hold on him as if he felt the same. Azry could not help compare the situation to if she ever saw her own family again. She heard a broken sob, and saw Carver's head dip. 

“She- I couldn't find her. She was in the thickest part, I- I'm sorry I-” Carver sobbed, his head on his mother's shoulder, one hand fisted on her jacket, blood from his side smearing onto the dark fabric.

“Carver!” came a new voice, and the girl that had been in the doorway was slinking between her mother and her brother. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, her eyes closed and pure relief and love on her face. The older brother moved Carver's arm around their sister, and soon Carver was holding her just as tightly, though his sobs were quieter. 

“Thank you for bringing him home,” the older brother said, touching Azry's shoulder gently. She shrugged.

“It was his idea. He's a sucker for lost puppies,” Azry said, nodding at Alistair, who was now being hugged by the sister- Beth, while Carver was half collapsed on his mother. The man smiled.

“Even still,” he said. Azry took a moment to look at the family, the mother still planting kisses on Carver's face, Beth on his other side, her face buried in her twin's shoulder, and the eldest, mourning on his face as much as relief. Mourning for the one that fell- Lora, Azry supposed. 

A feeling, a prickle swept over her suddenly, and she and Alistair turned as one to face the way they came. Nausea made her stomach roll, and Azry realised what it meant, what she could feel. Alistair met her gaze, and the look of fear on his face confirmed it for her. 

“Please, come in, the least we can do is food,” the mother was saying, holding out a hand to Azry and smiling so motherly. Her face was so kind, and for a moment she missed her mother so much it hurt. 

“No, thank you, we really must be going,” Azry said, shrugging off Alistair's pack and handing it to him, rolling her shoulders out as the weight was lifted. “And really, so should you. The darkspawn will be here any day,” she continued, trying to look less concerned than she felt. 

“There's nothing in their way now. The horde will overwhelm Lothering,” Alistair added, and his expression was worried enough for both of them. 

“They're right. We should-” Carver gasped, clutching his side again. His mother made soothing noises, brushing hair from his forehead.

“When you're rested, we'll go,” she said quietly, smiling softly at him but her eyes were worried. “Kent?” she asked, and the brother came over and moved Carver's hand slightly to check the wound. 

“Easy. Let's get him inside,” he said, and with a nod at Alistair and Azry, he and Beth helped Carver towards the house. The mother took Azry's hands in her own. 

“Are you sure we can't do something for you?” she asked, and Azry felt her heart lurch with a need for her father. 

“No, but thank you. Just get out when you can,” she replied. Suddenly she was hugging the woman, tears threatening at her eyes. She ignored them and hugged Carver's mother, begging whatever deity that was listening on her thoughts that this family made it out. 

When the woman was done with her, she quickly hugged Alistair again and bustled back to the house. Azry let out a long breath and ran a hand through her hair, trying to ignore the queasy feeling that refused to stop. Alistair touched her arm, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Speaking of leaving when we can?” he said, gesturing back towards the village. Azry nodded, rubbing her hands over her face. 

“Yeah. Let's retrieve them,” she replied, and together they started back towards the tavern. “Hopefully they haven't started another brawl in our absence,” Azry remarked, trying to shake off all the uneasy feelings that sensing the horde brought. Alistair laughed, but didn't reply. He rubbed his hands together, and Azry knew that he felt as uneasy as she did. They fell into silence as they walked back, the journey much faster without Carver, but as they reached the lanterns of the archway, Azry heard a murmur, as if someone was praying, somewhere just out of the reach of the light.

“Did you hear that?” Alistair whispered, looking wide eyed at Azry, she nodded, and held a finger to her lips, dropping into a low stance and walking slowly and carefully to where the sound continued. She kept her footsteps light and held the hilts of her swords to stop them clinking. Alistair was trying to move stealthily and slowly, but every so often something would clink in his pack and he would stop. Azry had moved a lot further in front of him, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out a tall and thin cage, and a dark shape inside it. It looked like a large human, taller and broader than Alistair. Taller and broader than any human she had ever seen, in fact. The closer she got, the less like a human they appeared, and much more like a mountain of muscle. They were still muttering but not in a language Azry understand, the words angry and violent, and yet the voice speaking them was deep, soft and reverent. 

“Have you come to taunt again?” The shape said, suddenly stopping the foreign muttering. Azry stopped, shocked that he could hear her coming.

“How did you hear me?” she asked cautiously, standing straight. The shape made a movement like it was stretching out. It stood, and turned to face her, and from what Azry could make out, he looked humanish, though with stronger and sharper features and more muscle than she'd ever seen on a human. It was clear in the way he held himself, his bare and scarred chest puffed and his shoulders set. His face was craggy and as scarred as his chest, his grey eyes watching her warily. 

“I heard you. Assassins are not as quiet as they think,” he said simply, his voice flat and emotionless. Azry raised an eyebrow.  
“You've had a few assassins come after you, then?” she asked.  
“No,” he replied.  
“Then why were you listening for them?”  
“Vigilance.” 

“What- why are you talking to him?” Alistair whispered, and Azry could practically feel the tension rolling off him as he attempted to sneak closer to her. She ignored him and judging from the look of disdain, the man in the cage was going to as well. 

“Why are you in the cage?” She asked. The man looked to his side, as if only just seeing the bars that encircled him.

“I caged myself,” he replied, and Azry felt how infuriating his short replies were going to be.

“If you did, you would have the key. You could leave.”  
“Why would I leave?”

“Stop teasing the qunari, we've got to leave, Adaia,” Alistair said. He touched her elbow, and she felt his fingers go to pull her away, but stop just before. 

“Qunari?” She questioned, staring up at the man. She'd heard of them, her father had told her of the many who had left to join their religion. He always said that he wanted her to be prepared if they ever came to Denerim for recruits, and now here was one in front of her, looking at her disdainfully. The cage actually looked smaller than him, the way he took up the space. 

“I am qunari. I am Sten, of the Beresaad,” the qunari said, his expression not changing, but his voice gained a slight bit of the reverence she'd heard in it before. 

“What are you doing here, Sten?” Azry asked, more wary of him than she was before. He didn't seem to notice, or care. 

“Waiting.”  
“For what?”  
“Death.”

“And it's death we'll join him in if we don't go now, Adaia,” Alistair pleaded. Azry waved him off. 

“Then go get everyone and come back here,” Azry said, not taking her eyes from the qunari. She heard Alistair make an attempt at words, before he closed his mouth. 

“I'll be back. Be careful, Adaia,” he said, and then Azry could hear the slight clanking as he returned to the village, his steps heavy and fast. Sten had not lessened his intense gaze and Azry forced herself to stare back and not shrink under it. 

“You are not like other elves,” Sten said finally, something like confused admiration in his voice. 

“What does that mean?” Azry replied, a bit too quick and a bit too angry. Sten frowned. 

“It means that more elves would run than stay. What purpose does you staying serve?” He replied, scrutinising her. 

“I am trying to decide if breaking you out is a good idea,” Azry answered. Brutal honesty seemed to serve better in conversation with Sten. After all, he was offering her nothing less than honesty, if in a roundabout way.

“Have you decided?” He asked. Azry tried not to be angered by the same emotionless tone his voice retained. 

“That depends on what you did to get you in this cage.”

“I murdered a farmhold. Men, women and children,” Sten said, his expression and tone not changing in the slightest. Azry was so shocked by his honesty that she didn't believe him to begin with. As the silence stretched and he did not add any more, Azry was forced to accept it as truth. 

“Why?” She asked. She knew she sounded more confused than she would've liked to let on. Sten, to her surprise, rolled his shoulders as if he was uncomfortable with answering.

“Does it matter now?” He replied, and Azry frowned.

“Do you regret it?” She asked, and was surprised further by his silence. She knew she could not force him to answer, much as his silence was telling. “You know the darkspawn horde is coming.”

“Yes.”  
“There is nothing to stop their advance.”  
“Yes.”  
“You would accept death at their hands?”  
“No.”  
“Then why are you still in the cage?”

Silence. Azry sighed. Just when she thought Morrigan and Mahariel were the most stubborn people she'd met. “Do you believe you deserve death?” she asked, and a thoughtful expression came over Sten's face. 

“No. But I also do not think I deserve the life I had before,” he said. Azry was once again surprised. She thought for a moment, and then swung her pack off her back, rummaging through the contents, hoping for something like a lockpick.

“What are you doing?” Sten asked her. She dug her hands in further, past the waterskins and spare tunics, reaching for the bottom of the bag. 

“I'm looking for something to break the lock on your cage,” she replied, and could feel something leathery under her fingers. She grabbed it as best she could. 

“Why?” Sten asked, sounding actually confused. Azry pulled the leather item out of her pack, and undid the leather thong that kept it together. Inside were actual lockpicks. She made a mental note to thank Flemeth if she ever saw her again. 

“Because I think you could be of use. I'm going to fight the darkspawn and destroy them,” Azry replied. She chose the suitable sized lockpicks and got a good look at the lock. Her eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, and while she could see pretty well, she didn't trust her skills as well as she would've if it was light. 

“You are a Grey Warden then,” Sten replied, and it wasn't a question. Azry nodded. 

“I am,” she confirmed, carefully sliding her lockpicks into the lock and began feeling for any weaknesses. 

“If you mean to fight the Blight, I will help. I will need a weapon,” Sten said simply, and Azry smiled to herself, feeling the lock give way. 

“We'll find you something,” she replied, as the lock clicked and she stepped back, letting the cage door swing open. Sten eased his way out, Azry backing towards her pack to give him room. As she packed her lockpicks into the set, she watched Sten stretch his arms out and roll his shoulders again, his muscles rippling. She thought she could make out faded red marks on his skin, but it was too dark for her to make out much. She could, however, see the other cages beyond Sten's were empty, though remnants of clothing and straw were littered along the bottom. Apparently, the other prisoners had been freed and Sten had been left to die. Azry tried to rationalise it, tried to think of Sten's crime as the reason but she just became disgusted with the townfolk. The people of Denerim would've seen her dead for what she did to Vaughn, never mind what he had done to her and her fellow elves. 

“What convinced you?” Sten asked, as Azry tucked the lockpicking set away and tied her pack closed. 

“You're honest, even about bad things. I think that's the kind of person I need fighting the Blight. There are too many liars,” she said, swinging her pack onto her back. Sten did not reply, but he frowned at her, as if inspecting her. She tried not to look to affected by it. She could see the rest of the group walking towards them, the dog catching sight of her and taking off at a run, barking excitedly. She grinned at him and knelt down, letting him barrel into her, nearly knocking her off balance, and licked her face thoroughly. “I'm okay! I'm okay, calm down,” she said, laughing and rubbing him. He barked, sounding as if scolding her, and nestled his face into her stomach. He nearly had to lay down to do so. 

“What did you do?” Alistair said, and Azry heard the terror in his voice. She looked up and saw him staring at the qunari, his hand on his sword and he was nearly white with fear. Morrigan, on the other hand, was looking at the qunari appreciatively, one eyebrow raised. Azry didn't want to read to deeply into that. Leliana looked concerned, but not as fearful as Alistair, and Mahariel had already drawn her bow and threaded it in one easy motion, and was nocking an arrow. 

“Calm down! He's going to help us. This is Sten,” Azry said quickly, stepping in front of the qunari. Alistair looked even more horrified, if possible, but Mahariel lowered her bow and replaced the arrow she had drawn. Leliana stepped forward, now clothed in simple leather armour, the sun of the Chantry emblazoned on the chest with an unstrung long bow sticking out on either side of her pack. She placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder.

“Though his actions were terrible, he did turn himself over to us. And he came with us quietly and peacefully,” she said soothingly to Alistair, her hand making careful circles on his arm. Azry narrowed her eyes, but bit her tongue and told herself that she was not jealous, that Alistair slowly relaxing and giving Leliana a grateful smile was a good thing and she was not jealous. 

“You fight the Blight. You are worth joining,” Sten added. Leliana nodded at him, and Alistair, though still looking warily at him, dropped his hand from his sword. 

“It's also worth mentioning that your mabari isn't growling at him,” Leliana added, smiling at Azry. For one insane moment, Azry actually regretted the fact that he hadn't growled at her, but squashed it down and smiled back at the woman, telling herself that she wasn't still jealous that Leliana hadn't moved her hand from Alistair's shoulder and he hadn't pushed it away, he barely touched Azry and every time he did he drew his hand back like he was being burned, why did he-

Azry stopped that train of thought before it went any further, and turned from the group, threading her hand through the fur on her dog's head. He whimpered softly, and she ruffled his fur. 

“Time to move on then?” Morrigan said, walking up beside her, a half smile on her face. Azry nodded. 

“Light the way?” Azry asked, and with a flash of a real smile, Morrigan conjured a flame that licked its way from her hand, up her staff to rest on the top of the gnarled wood. 

“It'd be best to follow the path out of Lothering, then go along the highway. There will be plenty of clearings we could choose from there,” Leliana added, walking in front of Azry but stopping to gesture in front. Azry shook her head, as much to say no as it was to relieve herself of the remaining stupid jealous feelings that she definitely did not feel.

“You lead. You know the area. Morrigan, you stay with her. Sten, you can stay just behind them. Alistair and I will bring up the rear,” Azry said, and Leliana flashed another beautific smile at her, setting off. Morrigan followed her, rolling her eyes and glaring. Sten nodded at Azry, and followed after the women, and even though she had given the order, Azry was surprised to see him obey it so readily. Mahariel gave her a questioning look and Azry gestured around them. “Do what you like, but don't venture far,” Azry said, and Mahariel was quick to dart into the night, bow ready and her steps light. Azry watched her disappear into the woods just beyond Carver's home, before Alistair walked up next to her.

“Hoping they make it out?” he asked, startling her from her revere. She looked up at him, seeing how soft his brown eyes had become. He looked tired, still worn out from grief, and he hadn't time to shave the stubble that was darkening around mouth. Azry had the urge to touch his lips but very forcefully shoved it down. 

“Hoping the refugees make it out,” she said, trying to sound short and angry but instead sounding tired. Alistair nodded, his smile agonisingly soft. He touched her shoulder, hesitatingly, and Azry without thinking lent into the touch, oddly remorseful about the idea of another quick grip of her shoulder. He didn't say anything, thankfully, but she did catch the slight caress of his thumb. She let herself be still for just a moment, before sighing, would she ever exhale normally again, and moved away, unable to stop the smile blossoming on her lips. “We should go,” she said, looking very determinedly at the road ahead. 

“Yeah- yes. Yes,” Alistair said. Even though she refused to turn and look at him, she could hear the smile in his voice.The dog, who had been silent and waiting through the whole exchange barked suddenly, nudging her legs and Azry set off, jogging slightly to catch up with the group ahead, the dog at her heels and Alistair falling into step beside her. Though silence fell between them, Azry's mind was a chorus of shouting voices and conflicting ideas.

How did Alistair get so firmly under her skin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chap: more Azry and Alistair!


	9. Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safety net, don't hold me now  
> In this hole I've fallen down  
> Secret home I made and found  
> A new way to breathe
> 
> Skin come off, skin come off  
> I've had enough  
> Skin come off  
> And in the sickness, you have faith  
> And in the thickness you find me
> 
> \-- Skin, Zola Jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small chapter before I get stuck into the meat of redcliffe!  
> I'm worried I may be pushing certain events and certain feelings to quickly but EH. 
> 
> my tumblr is teenytabris if you want to come kick my butt about updates!

It took Azry a few moments to pull herself out the nightmare, wrenching herself free with a gasp, the dragon's roar still ringing in her ears. The same feeling of her skin being stretched too thin, her mind scattered like dust swirling through empty air. Breath came hard from her lungs as she wrestled her consciousness from the horde and finally sat up, tangled in her blanket and her bones aching from sleeping on the frozen ground. She kept her eyes shut tight, pressing her palms into her forehead, panting her way back from the horrors she was forced to see. Finally, she pulled the blanket off her legs, the freezing night air oddly comforting, and took a moment to survey her surroundings, trying not to imagine the darkspawn pouring out of every dark space beneath the trees that surrounded the clearing.

They had chosen a place close enough from the old highway so that they could find their way back easily, but far enough that they would have plenty of warning should anyone spot them and think them ripe for robbery. Not that their meager camp boasted much; none of them had tents, and only Azry, Alistair and Leliana had chosen sleeping places nearest the fire. Sten was lying near where the clearing narrowed off into a pathway through the forest. the dog snuffling sleepily beside him, while Morrigan and Mahariel were as close to the trees as they could get without leaving the clearing proper. Azry could only just make out their sleeping forms. 

Leliana stirred slightly, sleepily murmuring something, before she turned over. She had chosen to sleep slightly further back from the fire than Azry, a decision that clearly worked. Maybe the grassier ground made for better kept in warmth. Azry glared at Leliana's back, cursing how comfortable she looked in her blanket. With a heavy exhale, Azry turned her gaze back on the now extinguished fire, rubbing along her arms for warmth. The cold was no longer helping to ground her, she now felt it right down in her stiff bones. It was almost making her nauseous. 

Her stomach rolled, and Azry realised that it wasn't the cold making her feel nauseous. 

She stumbled out of her blanket, hastily shoving it from her feet, and made her way as far from the camp as she dared, clutching her stomach and swallowing back the bile that flooded her mouth. She had barely made it past the first line of trees when she fell on all fours and emptied her stomach onto the forest floor. She winced, trying not to let more pour out but her stomach gave another painful lurch and she lent on her hands, hoping that her hair wouldn't drag through it. She heard a boot snap a twig, and felt a flicker of warmth on her back as the light of a torch made her prone form cast a shadow over the sick. Azry squeezed her eyes shut. Please be a bandit, please be a-

“Who go- Adaia? Oh, Maker, are you all right?” Alistair's voice said behind her, and Azry cursed every god that had ever existed. Of all the people to witness her like this, it had to be him.

“Yep. Just me,” Azry slurred, bile trickling from her mouth. She grimaced. How bloody attractive. 

She heard Alistair sheath his sword as she moved back to sit on her knees, grumpily trying to wipe her mouth with her sleeve. The light from Alistair's torch moved closer to her and bit of fabric suddenly appeared in view, and Azry took it, half smiling at Alistair in thanks as he knelt next to her. She tried not to look at him, knowing that his eyes would be full of sympathy or pity for her, and she did not need that. 

“I- I can't help but notice that it seems to be mostly dinner that you've upended. Is my cooking really that bad?” He said. His jovial tone sounded so forced that Azry groaned. 

“Maybe?” She said. She turned a look on Alistair, aiming for annoyed, but nothing changed in his piteous look. She went to add something probably scathing, but the smell of returned stew finally hit her and her stomach upturned painfully. She clutched at it with a groan and Alistair immediately wrapped his free arm under her and hoisted her onto her feet. She barely had to move, and if she had any pride left she probably would've pushed him off. She didn't and so she let him half carry her back to camp, taking it slowly and carefully, turning to look at her every so often with such a benevolently pitying look. When they reached the camp, Alistair first lay the torch in the smouldering remains of the fire, and then gently lowered Azry to the ground. She barely paid mind to him, her stomach still paining and annoying her, and she had to tell herself that the man whose touches she was agonizing over all of yesterday just carried her back to camp. She did try to give the thought more prominence, but as soon as she was on the ground, he was gone, back to his pack to ferret through it. Of course, she reminded herself, it wasn't actually a big deal and he was just taking care of a fellow warden and-

“Owwww,” Azry groaned, her stomach pains becoming almost throbs. 

“Water?” Alistair offered, holding out his waterskin to her. She took it gratefully, wincing slightly as she unclenched her hand from her stomach. It hurt to swallow, but the relief offered from the cold water was worth it. She still felt nauseous but not as if she was about to hurl whatever was left in her stomach out. She corked the skin again and offered it back to Alistair, but he raised his hands up as if warding it off. “No, please, you keep my bile infested water,” he said. He sounded more genuinely cheerful than earlier. Azry gave him a withering look that she only half meant, and dropped the bottle next to her. She could feel slight tremours going through her body and her skin felt as hot and tight as it had when she woke from the nightmare, but she felt a lot better. 

“You're amazed by my glamour and mystery, aren't you?” She drawled at Alistair. He laughed, quietly, glancing at Leliana. He went to sit next to Azry, but apparently her shivers looked worse than they felt, as he quickly retrieved her blanket and wrapped it around her. After getting his own, he sat next to her and pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders. The light from the torch flickered over his features, only just lighting his face. 

“Seriously, was it the food? I don't want you to throw up after everything I cook,” he murmured. Azry copied his low tone.  
“I don't think so, I had a bad dream,” she replied, and Alistair nodded sympathetically. 

“The nightmares. I've heard they're worse for those Joined during a Blight,” he explained. Azry tipped her head back, staring at the cloudy sky. Of course they were. Of course she didn't get stock standard horrible nightmares, she had to get extra special sick-inducing ones. 

“Oh, goody,” she groaned, though kept her voice low. She couldn't hear Leliana stirring, but as the woman had taken the first watch, Azry did not want to disturb her. She lowered her head and burrowed her hands further into her blanket. Alistair hadn't said anything further, and his silence was telling. Azry didn't think she would be able to hold in a scream if he said anything more in that soft, sympathetic tone. “But, just to make sure, what was in the stew?” She asked, smirking. 

“Well, mostly just the meat we got at the tavern and Mahariel was able to be convinced to part with a few vegetables. I just sort of stewed it together,” Alistair said, gesturing with the ends of his blanket, making it flap like wings. Azry snorted at the sight, but his words made her stomach roll uncomfortably once more.

“What kind of meat?” She asked, already pretty sure of the answer. 

Alistair gave a non-committal shrug. “Meat meat? I guess some kind of lamb, if I had to guess-” He said, but cut himself off when Azry groaned quietly, grimacing. Lamb. Horrifying nightmares and also lamb. No wonder her stomach performed a mass exodus. “Are you okay? Are you going to-”

“No, I've got nothing left in me,” Azry cut Alistair off with her tired attempt at a cheeky grin. He had the good grace to at least half smile at her before he peered closer at her, searching for something she clearly wasn't showing. “Really. It's all right. Just warn me next time you're gonna put lamb or anything equally as heavy into food,” she said, tilting her head to mimic his. 

“Why? Are you allergic?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in confusion. 

Azry screwed up her face, thinking of the best way to explain it. “Not allergic, but- okay, well if I was, all elves would be. We aren't...built for heavy food. I should've realised earlier, I was just incredibly hungry. Even now, despite all the expelling I'm still starving,” Azry said, waving her arm in exasperation. Alistair smirked at that. 

“Yeah, the appetites a Grey Warden thing. I remember scarfing down every dinner like it was my last,” he said.  
“What a sight you must've been!” Azry remarked, earning another quiet chuckle from Alistair. Not earning. Don't think like that, she scolded herself. 

“Gravy all over my face, mash in my hair, oh yeah. Would've driven any ladies in my nearby vicinity wild with desire,” Alistair remarked, one of his hands emerging from the blanket to run through his hair. Azry had the insane urge to bat his hand away and do it herself, but stopped herself, her grip on the blanket tightening for a moment. She couldn't help but notice that while her tremours had slowed and she no longer felt as hot, her skin still felt tight. Like with Morrigan's actions on meeting Sten, Azry tried not to read into that. 

“No more so than throwing up a meal someone had lovingly prepared for you,” Azry said, rather quickly, noticing how the silence had gone on while she watched Alistair's hand trace a path she maddeningly wanted to follow. 

“Well, it sends a message, doesn't it,” Alistair fired back, grinning. Apparently satisfied with his hair, his hand retreated back into warmth and Azry was left feeling rather oddly lost. Not that she was paying much mind to those feelings. “If you wanted, I suppose you could ask Mahariel for some of hers. She usually makes her own food. I think it's some kind of broth?” Alistair said. 

“Yeah, it smelled good. I think I'll see about sharing food with her. Personable and friendly as she is, I'm sure she won't mind,” Azry said, rolling her eyes.  
“Such a people person,” Alistair chuckled. 

Leliana let out a sleepy moan then, and both Azry and Alistair shrank back in their blankets, like naughty children about to be caught raiding the pantry. Azry caught Alistair's eye and had to hold in laughter, biting down on her bottom lip. He had a hand firmly over his mouth, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Azry remained quiet, trying her hardest not to look at Alistair, knowing it would make her laugh, until Leliana stopped shifting and fell back into sleep. Alistair nudged Azry, and gestured over to the other side of the clearing, away from Leliana. Azry nodded, thankfully not laughing, and followed Alistair as he retrieved the torch and made his way beyond the camp fire. He drew his sword, and after toeing a few spots in the grassier area, handed Azry the torch. She took it, wondering what he was doing, when he suddenly plunged his sword into the soft earth, twisting it a few times until there was a good-sized hole. He sheathed his sword after half-heartedly wiping the mud off. Azry handed him back the torch and Alistair shoved it into the hole, as deep as it would go. In her sleep-deprived, post nightmare and throwing up delirious state, Azry could barely hold in her giggle. Alistair, thankfully, was ignorant of this, and after being satisfied with the torch, he hiked up his slipping blanket around his shoulders and chose a drier spot to sit down on, Azry joining him. There wasn't much space, Azry was nearly nestled into Alistair's side. She chose to be half on the wetter ground, rather than get too close. Thoughts of falling asleep on Alistair's shoulder were making her stomach turn uncomfortably again, yet she wasn't sure if it was a bad thing or a good thing. 

“Think we should let her sleep through. She did help us, after all,” Alistair murmured, nodding back towards Leliana. Azry nodded her approval, drawing up her legs and resting her chin on her knees as she tucked the blanket around herself. 

“She's probably totally insane and the Chantry was happy to be rid of her,” Azry mumbled, though her words had no anger. Alistair didn't say anything, and Azry wasn't sure that meant he believed Leliana's story or not. As the silence stretched, Azry stared into the fire of the torch, watching the wind flicker it to and fro as if hypnotizing her. She was tired enough for it to work, and yet she could not even imagine sleeping again tonight. The dragon- archdemon's shrieking still echoed in her ears. 

“Your nightmare, did you see the archdemon?” Alistair finally said, and thankfully he didn't sound annoyed or disinterested. Azry could only guess at how he felt about what she said, but chose to let it drop.

“The dragon?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Yes. Huge spiky purple thing.”

“That's how we knew it was a true Blight,” Alistair said. He sounded very far away, like he hadn't heard Azry's attempt at lightening the mood. “Cailan- King Cailan would've believed anything Duncan said, but Loghain...Loghain wanted more proof than 'an old man's fears',” he continued, his voice turning cold at Loghain's word. He paused, but Azry said nothing, waiting for him to continue. Alistair stared off into the darkness, way past the fire. Azry wondered if he was trying to stare all the way back to Ostagar. “Ducan wasn't an old man,” he finally said, dropping his head. The torch lit flickered over him, but Azry could not see his face. “He looked tired, worn, definitely, but he wasn't old. It's this life, this constant war. It aged him. It'll age us too. He-” Alistair's voice cracked suddenly, and he flung the blanket off, dragging the meat of his palms over his eyes in a way that was so familiar that Azry's heart ached. Nausea and frantic thoughts forgotten, she reached out, her hand ghosting over Alistair's shoulder. 

It was almost a relief when he lent into her touch, mirroring her action at Lothering. Azry swallowed back years and years of hatred, years of judgement and casting every human as the villain they usually were, and slid her arm across his back, her hand just reaching his opposite shoulder, her thumb just caressing the skin beneath the leather cord he wore that matched hers. He stilled beneath her, his head tipping up slightly, turning to meet her eyes. His were full of tears, tracks already glittering down his cheeks. Azry's hand twitched with a need to wipe them away, but kept still.

Baby steps, she warned herself. 

She was nearly undone, as Alistair, slowly and hesitatingly lent further into her arm, finally breaking with a choked sob, and turned his face into her shoulder. It was for the briefest of moments, as he took long breaths sheltered in her part embrace, but it gave Azry the smallest glance at what her life would be like if she were able to brush off her past and be made new, forget everything that Azry had been and what she had gone through. Maybe she could share Alistair's grief for his mentor, for his fallen comrades. Maybe even let go of her ashamed feelings, her lingering guilt. 

Her hand trembled as she raised it, ready to thread through Alistair's hand, but caught on the ring on her necklace. 

In that moment, the sliver of a chance, that merest hope for change, was obliterated in the images of Nelaros laughing and teasing, stretching in golden light, the feeling of her father's arms wrapped tightly around her, the smell of Shianni's hair and the sound of Soris's slow, measured reading.

She was comforting Alistair's grief, and had not paid her own more than a single thought. 

Her hand fell back to her side, the one around Alistair slowly sliding back. 

Alistair sat back up from her abruptly then, wiping his face and trying to smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. Azry wrapped the blanket back around her, pretending the ache in her chest was actually in her stomach. She wasn't quite convincing herself.

“Sorry, Maker, this is pathetic-” Alistair began.  
“No. No, it isn't. You're grieving,” Azry interrupted. She didn't look at him. 

“Twice in one day you've comforted me. And after everything...just- in comparison,” Alistair stammered, and Azry turned to look at him them, her heart thumping. Was he- was he apologising for not letting her grieve?

“What comparison?” She asked, a little breathlessly. Tears were already stinging in her eyes. She tried to blink them away.

“What you said- what you said to shut Jory up. I haven't forgotten it. I-” Alistair began, but stopped and looked back towards the camp fire. “Wait, wait a moment, I'll be right back,” he said, standing up a little shakily, and going to his pack. Azry watched him rifle through it, confused but utterly curious. In the dark, she could make out a lumpy square shape, and as he came back into the light of the torch, she saw it was another blanket. She couldn't help the disappointment that crushed the spark of hope she foolishly entertained. 

She wasn't prepared for when Alistair unwrapped the bundle carefully, revealing a slightly squashed but beautiful red rose. Azry stared at it for a long moment, before her eyes flicked up to meet Alistair's. There was an almost unbearable amount of gratitude in them. 

“I picked it in Lothering. At the Chantry. Here,” he said, carefully pushing the threads of the blanket from the rose's thorns and lifting it tenderly. He offered it to her, and she let the blanket fall from her hands and dangle precariously from her shoulders, holding out her cupped hands. Alistair laid the flower gently in them, and Azry gently rolled it onto one hand, stroking the petals with her trembling free hand. 

“Why?” She asked, unable to keep the rapture out of her voice.

“It was growing among this mass of gnarled branches. The bush that surrounding it was dead, it was pretty clear. The thing looked like there was no way anything could ever thrive on it and yet, there was gorgeous flower, blooming despite the death around it,” he replied. His voice was quiet but the way he spoke made the hair on Azry's arms stand on end and her breath grow short. She could barely bring herself to tear her gaze from the rose, eventually looking up long enough to shake her head at Alistair, bewildered. 

“But why? Why didn't you leave it?” 

“Because it was this rare and beautiful thing that had flowered despite everything going against it. It was a contradiction to the world around it and I just- I couldn't walk past. I couldn't leave it to die,” he said, so softly and with as much reverence as he had handed the rose to her. Azry had to look away, look anywhere but in those earnest eyes. 

“It's going to die anyway,” she said, knowing that they weren't talking about the rose anymore.

“We all die. One way or another, some sooner,” Alistair said. A light touch just grazed past her chin, and a finger gently curled beneath it, a slight encouragement for Azry to lift her head, just enough that Alistair's eyes met hers. “I'd rather have a life beyond waiting to die,” he said. His face was closer than it was before, though he was still. Azry was very aware of how dry her lips were, how tears still sparkled on Alistair's cheeks and how little effort it would be to rise up and close that last, small space between them. 

Instead, she grinned at him, turning her head away with a laugh she didn't feel. “You get all the girls with that?”

“That and the gravy and mash face,” Alistair replied. She pretended not to hear the ever so slightest bit of disappointment in his voice. He laughed it off, and Azry turned back to look at him. He seemed more relaxed than he had, which Azry told herself was a good thing. “Truthfully, when you asked me why I picked it I was just going to tell you it was a thank you present,” Alistair admitted, running a hand through his hair. Azry laughed.

“Went a bit more than thank you,” she teased him. He held up his hands in defence, smiling, but not saying any more. Azry tried very hard to disregard that. She was having to do a lot of forcing herself to believe things of late. 

The sky seemed to lighten suddenly, or perhaps it had been lightening for some time and she had only just noticed. Azry looked to her left and saw the merest streaks of pink beginning to emerge beneath the clouds. 

“Sunrise,” she said simply. 

“We should get to Redcliffe by nightfall,” Alistair replied. 

They sat in silence for a few more moments, Azry still holding the rose in her slightly trembling hands. She lifted it carefully to her face, taking in the smell. The was the merest hint of decay beneath the flower scent. Considering all that Alistair had said to her, she could not find that small beginning of death off putting. It enhanced the life around it. With one hand, she traced her Warden mark through her shirt, her fingers just catching along the vial of Joining potion.

“You should grab some sleep while you can. It'll be a few hours yet,” Alistair said, shuffling behind her. Azry turned and saw him laying his spare blanket out on the softer ground, putting the torch out when he was done. He made a sweeping motion with his hand, and Azry smiled. 

“Thanks. I should, otherwise you might have to carry me to Redcliffe,” she remarked. Alistair laughed; it sounded hollow. 

He didn't say another word, even after she moved onto the blanket, placing the rose above her head and spreading her own blanket over her. He pulled it slightly over her feet, and with a last soft smile, went back to the camp fire, picking up his pack as he went. Azry watched him, but seeing the slump in his shoulders made her chest smart as if with an old wound, and lay her head back down, burrowing further into her blanket. 

As her eyes slid shut, the last image was one of the petals on the rose slipping from its fellows and drifting onto the ground, a splash of red against the harsh, dried brown around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe is next!


	10. Flashlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracing faces in the sand  
> Now your dagger is in my hand
> 
> I’ll make you move, I’ll make you move, I’ll make you move  
> I’ll make you run faster, faster, faster, flashlight  
> Flashlight, get outta my way, get outta my way  
> Cause I can’t lose.
> 
> \-- Flashlight, Ellie Goulding
> 
> \--
> 
> Heading to Redcliffe, the gang comes across a new friend. Two, in fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no redcliffe after all, but i had to put something up its been TOO LONG.

Murmuring woke Azry this time, and it was a slow lazy awakening. She couldn't remember having another nightmare, and her muscles felt heavy and relaxed. With a yawn, she lifted her head slightly, her eyes blinking in the early morning light.

It was only when she tried to stretch her arms out that she realised that every inch of her was cold and brittle and sore. She gasped, groaning as she tried to move her legs. They felt like they were bruised and bending her knees was trying to snap branches. 

“Fuck,” she moaned, forcing herself up and swearing the whole way. She kept the blanket wrapped around her, and tried to not stand on the other one. She knew her boots would be covered in filth and didn't want to repay Alistair's kindness by making his blanket disgusting. 

The rose he gave her wasn't where she left it, lying above where her head had been laying. She looked around the camp, seeing if it blew away anywhere, but it seemed it was gone forever. She tried to shrug of the sudden sadness. It refused to be ignored, however, and she looked over at Alistair, crouched next to the now lit campfire, stirring something in a pot. It had been a lovely gift. If only she'd hung onto it.

Groaning, she lent down again, wincing as her back let out a protesting crack. She grabbed the corners of the blanket and folded it, pulling her own blanket over her shoulders like a shawl. Alistair's blanket she folded into a square, as best she could, and tucked her hands together underneath it, trying to warm them up. It was like having stone skin. She'd never been so stiff and cold in her life. 

She made her way over to the fire, looking past Alistair, searching for their other companions. Leliana was sitting cross legged, not in her leather armour yet, her blanket wrapped around her and her hands cradling a bowl, presumably of whatever Alistair was cooking. Sten was standing where he had been sleeping, his back to the camp. Azry couldn't tell whether he was well rested or not. He seemed exactly the same as he had been last night, standing in that cage. In the light, however, she could see that the red marks on his back and arms was faded painted symbols. Diamond shaped and overlapping. She noted them with interest and then remembered how little Sten had said of himself. Maybe it's not worth being curious, she thought.

The dog, who had been sitting next to Sten, gave a ridiculously joyous bark and bounded to her, nearly knocking Azry over with his enthusiasm. She laughed, the sound rather croaky, and gave his head a thorough scratch. The dog grinned blissfully and sat, pushing his head into her touch. 

“Good morning to you too,” she said to him. He huffed in response.

“He looks so happy that I'm tempted to let you muss my hair too,” Alistair said. He grinned cheekily at Azry. She hoped that meant he was ignoring last night as much as she was going to. 

“Ruin that perfect bed head? I wouldn't dream of it,” she shot back. Leliana laughed, which made Azry remember that there were other people in the camp with ears. That were awake. 

She stopped patting the dog and tucked her hand back into the blanket. The dog looked up at her, his big brown eyes so terribly sad that she nearly starting patting him again. 

“Not this time, doggy,” she said, giving him a mock glare. He rolled his eyes and huffed, trotting back to Sten. Azry walked up the fire and knelt in front of it, her joints cracking as she did. Alistair winced in her peripheral vision. 

“You all right, grandma?” He said. She turned and gave him a look. 

“I'm tempted to throw your blanket in the fire rather than give it back to you,” she muttered, even as she handed it back. His eyes went a little soft at seeing it and Azry turned back to watch the fire as soon as he took it off her hands. She could pretend it was the heat of the flames that was reddening her cheeks that way. She could see near the edge of the clearing Morrigan was repacking and Mahariel was scooping the last bits of whatever she'd eaten out of a bowl. Despite her stomach's reaction to food last night, Azry felt terribly hungry. Starving, even. 

A bowl was suddenly presented before her, the contents less thick than they had been last night. She took it, and turned to look at Alistair. He half smiled at her. 

“I took out as much meat as a could and strained everything else. Hopefully it behaves this time,” he said. He sounded jokey and like it didn't really matter, but there was an earnestness about him that made Azry's chest hurt. She remembered his missing rose and it hurt worse. 

“Thanks,” she replied and took a cautious sip of the stew. It was fairly tasteless, but it was lighter than the one she'd so violently rejected. She thanked Alistair again, and he blushed. He was pink to his ears as he turned back to the cooking pot. 

Neither he or Lelilana attempted conversation, so it was in silence that Azry tried very hard to sip slowly, no matter how much she wanted to tip the whole lot in her mouth. Alistair hadn't been kidding about the Grey Warden appetite. 

Once she was finished, she nearly went to beg for more, but held her tongue. Alistair had done enough by straining it once for her. She'd just have to hang on until she could ask Mahariel for some of hers. If she was lucky, the girl may take pity on her. 

“Done?” Alistair asked, stirring Azry from her inner monologue. She nodded, and he took her bowl, dropping it into the cooking pot. “I'm going to head to the river to wash these out,” he said, standing with pot in hand. Azry nodded and he headed into the forest beyond, following the faint sound of water. Azry whistled at the dog, and his ears perked up. She nodded at Alistair, and the dog barked, getting up and darting after him. Azry grinned as Alistair greeted him delightedly. 

“You'll have to give him a name. They respond so much better to names given by their masters,” Leliana said, suddenly beside Azry. Azry suppressed the urge to jump. Leliana knelt next to her, smiling beautifically. She looked irritatingly well rested. It figured that after Azry warned her about the hard, outdoors life it was Azry that woke up feeling wrecked. She turned to look at the figures of Alistair and the dog. 

“I dunno. I think Alistair will do for now,” she said. Leliana was quiet for a moment, before she let out the loudest laugh Azry had ever heard, before it descended into giggles. Azry looked at her in bewilderment. Leliana was actually clutching her side. It wasn't that funny, was life in the Chantry really that stifled? 

“Maker,” Leliana finally exhaled, taking in a few deep breaths. She was still beaming. Azry was even more concerned for the woman's mental state. “I meant-” Leliana began.

“I know you mean the dog,” Azry said. Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be, but she squashed the guilty feeling. Being nice to Alistair was one thing. She couldn't be nice to Leliana as well, there was not enough room in her patience. Leliana, however, did not seem even the slightest bit phased. She was still smiling benevolently at Azry. “How do you know anything about mabari?” Azry asked finally, trying hard not to sound petulant. She wanted to sound angry and commanding, but she knew how well that had gone previously. Leliana's smiled saddened, somewhat. 

“My- my mother. She was from Ferelden. She loved dogs,” Leliana said. 

“You're not from Ferelden?” Azry asked, a little confused. She had been wondering how a Chantry sister knew anything about dogs, though not being from Ferelden did explain the way she spoke, like the language didn't sit right in her mouth. 

Leliana ducked her head, as if embarrassed. “I'm from Orlais. My mother worked for a noble lady. When she died, my mother that is, the lady took me in. Lady Cecille,” she said, not meeting Azry's eyes. 

“What the hell were you doing cloistered when you were raised by a noble?” Azry said. She was baffled by the notion that someone growing up with money and privilege would want to give that up. Something dark flashed in Leliana's eyes and Azry nearly flinched. 

“I...I was being trained as a bard. A travelling singer. I was passing through Lothering and felt the Maker calling me to stay. I loved the quiet,” Leliana said. She looked down at her shoes and scuffed them along the ground. “I do miss the shoes. Sometimes a girl wants to have pretty feet,” she joked, giving Azry a wry smile. Azry scrutinised Leland for a moment, considering what she had said. Obviously there was more to the story, and Leliana wasn't ready to give it up. No one was that bad of a liar on purpose. 

“You loved the quiet until the Maker told you to leave,” Azry probed, not having forgotten how Leliana had explained her reason for helping. Leliana sighed, one hard rubbing over her brow.

“I knew it would come up again eventually. I don't suppose there is much chance of you ignoring it for a while longer?” She asked finally, her eyes imploring. Azry couldn't help the snort she made as a response. 

“Ignore that the Maker supposedly sent you a vision to help us? People you'd never met before? I'm afraid I'm much too cautious to let that slide,” Azry replied, pulling the blanket firmer over her body as a breeze picked up. Leliana didn't seem ruffled one bit by the suddenly cooler weather, her gaze somewhere very beyond and somewhat exhausted. 

“I had a dream. It had symbols in it that made me realise that staying in the Chantry was no longer an option. Will that do for now?” She said finally, her tone snappish. Azry was surprised by it, enough that she was silent. The pause went on long enough that Leliana nodded at her, taking it as a dismissal and walked to her belongings. Azry watched her go, frowning. Leliana being open about her vision but keeping the actual details secret was confusing. Troubling, even. Still, as strange as the woman was, she had offered to help. Her armour, bow and even the knives Azry had seen glimmering on her belt were of a fine, if simple make. She knew travel and battle, that was certain. Azry wasn't sure if she wanted to delve too deeply into Leliana's history, however. She didn't trust the woman and despite everything, she still did not know how to be entirely civil with humans. 

Except Alistair. The thought came so quickly, so unbidden into her head she barely had time to squash it. Except no-one, she scolded herself. After this is over, how many of this group will stay by an elf? 

At that, she cast a look over at Morrigan and Mahariel's camp. Mahariel was sitting on the ground, her legs stretched out in front of her. She was reaching down to her toes, her head bent. Mahariel and Azry may share a race, but Mahariel would not stay for it. Azry was surprised she stayed with the Wardens at all. 

All this introspection was going to be the death of her, Azry thought, rubbing her hands over her face while still keeping a grip on the blanket. She made a mental note to ask to share Mahariel's food next time they stopped, but then moved her thoughts to packing up her belongings and planning the group's next movements. 

She made her way back to her pack, and decided to pull everything out and see what exactly Flemeth had given her. The lock picking tools she already about, and tucked between three spare tunics was her mother's necklace. Azry ran a hand over it, wondering how it got in there. She thought she'd left it in the chest with her damaged armour. Like most of her thoughts of home, she brushed aside the feelings the necklace evoked and continued to pull out the supplies in her bag. Underneath the tunics were two empty waterskins, and below that was a second blanket. She unfolded it, and inside was an assortment of dried food. There was nothing else underneath it, and Azry tried not to feel too ungrateful for the lack of armour. Their next stop was Redcliffe, and despite Alistair's assurances that Arl Eamon was on their side, she didn't truly know what to expect. Hopefully there would be a chance for her to get at least a leather set like Leliana's soon, and without having to pay money, she thought, realising there wasn't even a copper in the pack. With a pang, she thought of the bulging purse of coins she had collected on her wedding day. 

Azry was finishing repacking her pack, leaving out the dried food when Alistair returned, the dog barking to sound their approach. Azry gathered the food from atop the blanket as best she could, shivering in the cold without her blanket shawl, making her way to Alistair. He had grabbed his own pack once back beside the now extinguished fire and was now stowing away the cooking pot and bowls with a furrow in his brow. 

“Flemeth gave me some supplies. I didn't really go through my pack until now,” Azry said, by way of greeting. She nearly kicked herself with how awkward she sounded. Alistair looked up, smiling when he saw the strips of meat she was having trouble cradling. There was a slight bit of wariness in his eyes that gave Azry pause. She hadn't insulted him with her actions last night, had she? She-

Had just wanted to keep this civil between two of the last three Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Nothing more. Nothing. More. She wished all of a sudden that the taint that joined them could somehow help her read his mind. All she could do was feel his presence. And Mahariel's too, she reminded herself. 

“Well, hopefully she hasn't cursed it. Wouldn't be too good for the last Wardens to be frogs,” Alistair remarked as he took the dried meat from her. Azry scolded herself internally for thinking his wary look was meant for her, and again for regretting the sleeves of their tunics that stopped their arms from meeting. She needed a bucket of cold water dumped over her head. She noticed the bulge in Alistair's pack then, and watched him struggle to fit his belongings back inside before she took pity on him. 

“If you need to make room, my pack is pretty spare. I could carry something?” She said, smirking at the way he tried to haphazardly shove a few tunics past the cooking pot. He gave her a grateful smile.

“If you wouldn't mind? I mean, I'm usually a much better packer,” he said, pulling the now crumpled tunics out along with a blanket. He tried to refold them, and eventually just handed Azry the barely together pile of cloth. He stifled her laugh but he blushed when he met her eyes. Her smile was clearly holding back a laugh. “I'm usually a much better folder as well,” he added. Azry shrugged.

“I seem to have an odd effect on you,” she said before she could stop herself. She'd never wanted to slap herself more. What a way to bring up last night. 

“No worse than I have on you. There I was, trying to wow you with my cooking and instead I poison you,” Alistair replied, that soft smile a contradiction to the joking tone. Azry let her lips curl into a smile but looked away, knowing how dangerous staring into those eyes was now. She took a breath in and remembered red hair, choked sobbing and fire licking its way across a bloodstained bedspread. 

“Speaking of which,” Alistair said, suddenly enough to startle Azry and loud enough that Leliana looked over, frowning more in confusion than anything else, and the dog turned to look at him. Alistair rummaged through his pack for a minute, time enough for Azry to need to rearrange the pile in her arms. When Alistair emerged form the cave that was his pack, a bound copy of the Chant of Light was in his hand. She watched his hand as it moved towards the pile. “I nearly forgot to give this back.”

“That is definitely not mine,” Azry said. Alistair laughed at that, smiling with such joy at her disgusted tone. 

“The book itself isn't, no. It's actually mine, but,” he said, grinning at Azry's groan. “We'll get into your clear hatred of the Chantry at a later date. For now,” he finished, and opened the book, revealing the rose she'd thought lost. it was pressed neatly between passages that depicted some war or something. The rose had left imprints over some words, even smudging a few, which made Azry smile. She wasn't already smiling before that, definitely not. 

“I was wondering where that went,” Azry said quietly. Alistair shrugged, his smile not dimming at all.

“I'm sorry it's a bit flat now. I figured it'd last longer this way,” he said fondly. “Not that I asked you at all what you wanted, like a real gentleman,” he continued, his smile fading and his brow furrowing. He looked a bit sheepish.

“I was concerned where I was going to keep it. Bit hard to store fresh,” Azry replied, nudging his arm gently. He looked at her and smiled. That goddamn soft smile. He looked at her like he could never get tired of it. She tried to summon up any kind of annoyance but all that she felt was 

Alistair closed the book and placed it delicately on the top of the pile of his belongings. “Thank you, again for this,” he said. 

Fuck it. That soft smile was going to be the death of her. Azry smiled back, shrugging again. “All of us doomed heroes in together, right?” She said, and turned away from him after a moment, not even trying to squash the warm feeling in her chest. 

Repacking her pack was easy enough, there wasn't enough in there to cause any complications. Blankets on the bottom, tunics on top of that, waterskins, book containing rose and lock picks on the top. Her swords and belt containing her dagger, currently lying next to her bag, she would wear. Armour was going to be a problem, she didn't have any money to buy it and wondered if she could get away with stealing it without Alistair or Leliana noticing. She looked over her shoulder, and saw Alistair fiddling with the sides of his armour. She'd seen him wear it yesterday while they were travelling, but only now did she realise, stupidly, that it wasn't the plate he had been wearing at Ostagar. It was leather, but had plate metal tooled into it like scales. The armour on his arms matched, but there was a section on his hips that was plate. His greaves and sabatons were plate was well. Was he wearing plate over the top of his chest piece and traded it in Lothering? 

The realisation hit her and drained the warmth from her body, leaving her feel quite shellshocked. Why would he trade an important piece of equipment for food for all of them? For himself sure, but- 

Maker, he'd only met most of them, and the one he had known longest had made her own food. What possessed him to be that...giving?

A sudden weight in her lap shocked her out of her thoughts and she looked down to see the dog lying over her crossed legs, giving her a very concerned look. That was enough to bring her smile back and she rubbed his belly, eliciting a happy bark from the fluffy creature. Leliana was right, he did need a name. 

“What was your name before, I wonder?” She murmured to him. The dog, if he even understood her, did not even look up. His tongue lolled from his mouth and he made happy whimpering noises the more she scratched his belly. Azry laughed, ruffling the fur on his neck to make him look up. He wiggled enough to reach up and lick her face, the bulk of his weight nearly knocking Azry over. “You think you're a small dog, don't you? You think you can loll in my lap because you're so small!” The dog barked again, pushing his face into Azry's and nuzzling her. He was bigger than her while she was sitting down, and if she had't braced herself in time she would've fallen back. She leant heavily on her hands while the dog shuffled around, knocking her pack to one side and nestling further into her lap. He could barely fit the front of his body in, and yet he was trying to curl up, cat like. Azry pushed back a little, moving out from under him enough that she didn't have to brace herself. 

“You are a silly dog,” she said. She wasn't even a little bit angry. The dog huffed at her and she threaded her fingers back through his fur. “You need a name, and since you can't tell me what it was before, I'll have to give you one,” Azry murmured to the dog. He turned his head enough to look at her questioningly. He seemed to pause while she thought. 

She ran her hands along the length of his body a few times, her hand ghosting along his scar. The action helped her think. She'd never had the chance to name a pet before. Sometimes her father could barely afford to feed them, let alone an animal. The strays in the Alienage were too vicious to be pets, not that Azry ever blamed them. She felt a little vicious most days too. 

What did you name a war dog? A pet you could name anything, Fluffy or Spot or whatever, but calling it out during a battle might be odd, to say the least. Azry dug her fingers in a little behind the dog's ears, scratching him a little bit. The dog made a happy whimper, and thumped his leg on the ground. 

“What was your name before? I bet it was boring,” she asked him again, murmuring softly to him. He yawned hugely in response and Azry laughed. “Very boring then.”

Her uncle had named a series of strays he took in 'Eddie'. Maybe she should continue the tradition? Honour her cousins' parent. He died with her mother, and her aunt. There wasn't anymore Eddies after that.

“Are you Eddie? Do you like that?” She said to the dog. He gave her a very intense look, enough that she was nearly convinced he could understand every word she had said. He gave a huff and nodded his head. “You like Eddie?” Azry asked again, and the dog gave a very happy bark and sprung off her lap, nearly knocking her to he ground and bounded back and forth, baring his teeth in a doggy grin. “Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie!” Azry called delightedly, and Eddie responded with happy barks and licks to her face. His eyes were positively joy-filled. “Good. We'll call you Eddie, then. Good boy, Eddie,” Azry crooned, scratching his head. He gave her face another thorough licking. 

He sat back and let her stand, finally, and she tied her pack closed and swung it onto her back. She tied her belt around her waist and then collected her swords, fastening them haphazardly around her waist. The sheathed were really not designed to hang from her hips but didn't want to run the risk of having them on her bag and getting caught on her pack in a crucial moment. 

“I will carry that.” Sten was suddenly behind her, and she jumped when he spoke. His face was as grim and serious and Azry wondered if there was any other expression he could pull. He was looking pointedly at her pack. 

“You don't have to, it's not that heavy,” she replied. Would he be insulted if she thanked if for the offer? 

Sten turned his gaze on her, and she had to resist the urge to back away. “You need freedom of movement to fight. The bag will hinder you further,” he said. 

“What do you mean further?” Azry asked, confused. She hadn't looked in a mirror for some time, perhaps she still had scars riddling her face.

“You are a woman,” Sten replied.  
“What does that have to do with hindering me?” Azry shot back, utterly befuddled.

“Women are priests, artisans, farmers. Men are warriors,” Sten replied, looking at her like she was a particularly stupid child. 

“Women can absolutely be warriors. Women can do anything that men can do, and in most cases, can do it better,” Azry said shortly. She had known he would be confused by the differing cultures but to insult her fighting skills? He hadn't even seen her fight! 

“That doesn't make any sense. A person cannot choose what they are born for,” Sten said, and his tone was short and angry. He looked utterly confused. Azry almost pitied him.

“Your people may not, but my people do. I'm afraid you'll just have to put up with my hindered fighting until you find a weapon,” Azry said flatly. She shrugged off her pack, pulled out her lockpicking set and tossed the pack at Sten. He looked like he had shocked himself by catching it, and stared at Azry like she was some strange, unknown creature. Azry smirked at him, and turned away, walking towards the fire that Alistair was now dampening. Eddie gave Sten a growl and trotted after her, with a superior look on his face. 

Alistair gave her a knowing look and then nodded at Sten. “Looked like a fun conversation,” he said, eyeing the qunari warily. Azry let out a long-suffering sigh. 

“He'll learn he's not home anymore eventually,” she replied, undoing her sheathes. She shrugged them on properly, each sword nestling comfortably on her shoulder blades. She tightened the buckle over her collarbone, fastening it just loose enough so it wouldn't dig into her skin too much. Her tunic did not offer much protection from the leather rubbing, but she'd just live with it until she found or stole some armour. The ties on her tunic came loose enough that she could see the dark bruise over her heart. Her stomach rolled once, painfully, and she quickly redid the ties. 

“You'll get used to seeing it,” Alistair murmured. He had finished putting out the fire, and was watching her. His hands fiddled with the straps of his pack. His left hand ghosted over his own mark and Azry felt him do the motion as if she was in his body.

“Will I get used to feeling you all the time? Feeling Mahariel?” Azry said, looking over at the Dalish girl. She and Morrigan were making their way towards them, but slowly and Mahariel was listening intently to whatever Morrigan was saying. She could feel the girl's movements just as she could feel Alistair's. 

“You used it pretty well in the Tower, if I remember correctly,” Alistair said, his lips curving slightly. Azry couldn't help her own smile. She tossed her hair back and shrugged. 

“I am pretty great,” she said, mockingly proud. Alistair chuckled. 

“Are we to leave or have I packed my things for nothing?” Morrigan said irritably. Azry had to hold in a laugh as Alistair immediately scowled. 

“We're leaving now. Alistair, if you would lead the way to Redcliffe?” Azry said, trying to diffuse the tension already growing between him and the mage. Alistair nodded, and began walking back towards the highway, Eddie trotting behind him, barking at Azry to follow. Sten waited for Morrigan and Mahariel to stalk past him before following, looking back at Azry. 

Leliana was the last, and Azry fell into step beside her. After a moment, Leliana rustled in a side pocket of her pack and pulled out a leather tie. 

“For your hair,” she offered, handing the tie to Azry. Azry smiled in thanks, and proceeded to gather as much hair as she could into a loose ponytail. Despite her earlier thoughts, Azry did feel like she should at least try to by civil to Leliana. At least for the sake of keeping group morale pleasant. 

“Maybe I should cut my hair short like yours,” Azry said. 

“No, don't! Your hair is beautiful!” Leliana said, and sounded so genuinely distressed that Azry laughed. 

“My cousin would have the same reaction,” she said, and was surprised that the memory of Shianni did not hurt this time. It made her feel almost light. Leliana made no other reply but to smile, and in silence they followed the rest of the group onto the highway. 

\--

By midday Azry would've killed for a jacket. The wind had picked up, bringing a chill with it that she could feel in her bones. The walking was helping, but as the day wore on and the chill got worse she began to wonder how exactly it was Morrigan could wear practically nothing with nary a shiver. And Sten, the bastard, he wasn't even wearing a shirt. Mahariel too, her bare feet must be growing icicles by now. A gust of wind ghosted underneath Azry's tunic and she hugged herself, shivering audibly. 

“Are you all right?” Alistair asked. He had fallen back to walk with Azry and Leliana while the road was straight. Azry grimaced and let her shoulders go. She could see her hands and arms shaking slightly.

“I'm freezing,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “I made the mistake of not robbing someone of their warm clothes while in Lothering.” 

Whatever reply Alistair was about say with a smirk on his face was interrupted by a shout. 

“Bandits are attacking a caravan ahead,” Sten reported. His voice was disturbingly monotone. Alistair and Leliana immediately shed their packs and unsheathed their weapons. Azry quickly pulled her own swords out and ran out ahead, adrenaline warding off the cold for now. 

“Sten! Stay with Morrigan! Alistair, with me!” Azry yelled back. She was almost surprised when she looked back over her shoulder and saw Sten, fists clenched and body in a battle stance, standing right by Morrigan as electricty crackled up and down her arms. Mahariel was close by, her bow strung and an arrow already nocked. 

Alistair, Leliana and Eddie flanked her as Azry ran down the highway, trying to analyse the scene as she went. There was a group of bandits, four archers and six or seven wielding swords or knives, surrounding a caravan. The shout she had heard earlier had come from the owner, a dwarf. He had his arms wrapped around a younger dwarf, the young one was shaking but his eyes were full of anger. 

“Please, we're just trying to get away from the darkspawn,” the older dwarf was saying. The bandits chuckled, until an arrow sped through the group and buried itself into the eye of an archer. He gasped, and fell down. 

Azry made a mental note to congratulate whoever taught Mahariel her skills, and thrust her swords into the nearest man, taking a bit of pleasure in the gurgle he let out as her swords pierced his neck. Alistair rushed into the one just past him, smacking into him shield first, and when the bandit fell, howling in pain, Alistair stabbed his sword straight through the man's leather armour. Eddie ran further past, tackling a screaming man to the ground and growling as he mauled him. Azry pulled her swords from the man she killed, and spun past a sword that swung into her view. The woman wielding it snarled as she tried again, the sword rushing towards Azry's middle. Azry ducked down, turning on her knees to dodge the sword and in one smooth movement stood and swung both her swords at the woman's neck. They cut deep and Azry pulled them back quickly, severing most of the woman's neck. Blood spurted from the wound and she fell, her hands clutching at her neck. 

Morrigan's lightning sped past Azry's face, paralysing two of the sword-wielding bandits, and Leliana, short bow in hand, was firing arrow after arrow at the remaining archers. Her arrows pierced knees and chests, not enough to kill but enough to cripple. Azry dodged another sword, slicing at the exposed backs of the bandit's leg, and as she sliced her swords again at a felled archer, she heard Alistair grunt and the sickening crack of a skull breaking. Her sword slid across the neck of the archer, and with the other she thrust into the neck of the man behind him. The last archer went the way of the first, Mahariel's precision shooting striking through his eye. Azry pulled her swords from the men, and turned to face the last bandit, who stood surrounded by decapitated corpses with arrows sticking from them. He did not have time to do much more than open his mouth before he was suddenly frozen, ice clinging to his body. Alistair moved to him, and tapped the ice with the point of his sword. It made a very solid sound. 

“Well, then,” Azry remarked. She stepped gingerly over a few bodies to inspect the frozen man herself. Eddie followed her, and gave the figure a disapproving sniff. “That finishes that, then.” 

“You're welcome,” Morrigan's smug voice floated over. Azry was too impressed by her spell to be even slightly mad at her tone.

“Thank you! Oh, thank you ever so much,” the dwarf man said, hurrying around the bandit to grasp Azry and Alistair's hands and shake them hard enough that Azry had to steady herself. “Bodahn Feddic, at your service, and it is grateful indeed!” Bodahn said, looking happy enough to start crying. He let them go, and Azry caught sight of Alistair rub his hand with a slight grimace. Azry grinned at him. Bodahn hurried back to the younger dwarf, and brought him around, smiling broadly at them again. “This is my son, Sandal. Say thank you to the nice man and ladies, Sandal.”

“Hello,” the boy said. He sounded a bit gormless, but there was an undeniable intelligence in his eyes. He seemed bored with the situation now the fighting was over. Eddie gave him a careful sniff as well, and cocked his head at the boy. Sandal laughed delightedly, and clapped his hands. “I like the doggy!” he crowed, and Eddie barked back, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. Sandal copied him, laughing still.

“Please, whatever we can do to repay you, we will do. You have saved our lives, no reward is too big,” Bodahn said, his eyes shining with grateful tears. Alistair made some stammering noises Azry assumed were him trying to reply, but Azry cut in. 

“We do need some supplies, have you any arms or armour in that caravan?”Azry questioned, nodding towards the wagon in question. Bodahn's face lit up. 

“Absolutely! My boy and I deal in plenty of arms and amour! Please, come and take a look,” Bodahn said, ushering Sandal back around the frozen bandit to the back of the caravan, pausing for a moment to rouse the great creature attached to the front that Azry recognised as a bronto. 

“We aren't going to say we did it from the goodness of our hearts?” Alistair said, sounding a little conflicted. Azry rolled her eyes. 

“You can take the moral high ground, in your full armour. I just fought an army of bandits in a tunic,” Azry said, gesturing at herself. “I literally could've died just then.” 

Alistair looked her up and down once, and seemed to go a shade paler. “I- Wow. You really could've. And yet you charged right in there,” he remarked. Azry shrugged. She wiped her swords in the nearest bandit and sheathed them. She'd clean them properly once they got to Redcliffe. 

She looked over at Leliana, who was picking through the bodies, yanking arrows out and cleaning them as she went, before returning them to her quiver. Mahariel was walking towards the ones she felled, a look of disgust on her face, though that was nothing new. Sten was still by Morrigan, but was now standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring blankly further up the road. Morrigan was inspecting her nails. 

Azry gestured at Sten to come to her. He gave her a questioning look, but did so, and Azry followed after Bodahn. She nearly tripped over a lone bandit's head, and after her initial shock, looked at Alistair with what she hoped was bemusement. “This your doing?” She called to him. 

“Didn't want him to get ahead of himself!” Alistair said back, grinning like an idiot. Azry could hear peals of laughter coming from Leliana. 

“Brilliant,” Azry scoffed, trying to hold back her own laughter. Alistair gave her a merry wink, and moved to help Leliana collect her arrows. Eddie was sniffing the bandit's head, growling at it and nudging it, like he was trying to get it to fight him. Azry rolled her eyes and kept moving.

Once Azry reached the caravan, Sten right behind her, Bodahn untied the canvas covering the back, and with Sandal's help, rolled it back. Azry's eyes widened. 

In it was an armoury's worth of swords, bows, axes, knives, armour, arrows and a few weapons she could not even name. They were neatly arranged in sections, the amour stacked carefully in matched sets and the weapons gleaming. 

“You weren't kidding, this is plenty all right,” Azry said. She could hear the breathless note in her voice, but didn't care. She had thought her mother had a lot of weapons, but that was only one rack, hidden in a basement. There were several in the caravan, all different sizes and shapes. 

“Please, take whatever you and your companions need. It's the least the boy and I can do,” Bodahn said, gesturing for Azry to go inside. He even unfolded a set of stairs for her. She smiled at the man, and made her way inside. It shouldn't be surprising to her that she was taller than him, he was a dwarf after all, but she was the smallest person in the group they had gathered. It was odd to be taller than anyone when even Mahariel towered above her. 

She didn't let herself be swept away by the sheer amount of weaponry in the caravan, even when she spotted a rack of beautiful iron-wrought staves, each with a different glittering gem at the top. There was a set of leather armour, tooled with intricate vine designs that seemed reminiscent of Mahariel's armour, though hers was made from a flat grey metal. Or, at least, it seemed metal. Her chainmail had been lighter than she had imagined chainmail would be. Azry took a closer look at the leather armour, and saw that it was almost perfectly elf-sized. 

“Bodahn, is this elven armour?” Azry called out, and when the dwarf stuck his head in the caravan, Azry pointed to it. Bodahn nodded, a nostalgic smile coming to his face. 

“A Dalish warrior leaving his clan for the city sold me that. Beautiful, isn't it?” He remarked. Azry frowned, looking back to the armour.

“Why would he leave his clan?” She asked. 

“Apparently he never finished his first hunt. Decided that hunting for a living wasn't for him and left. In Gwaren now, I think,” Bodahn replied. 

Azry's own grandmother had left a Dalish clan for the city, so hearing another story like hers should not be surprising, but when people from her Alienage leave to go and chase the Dalish it was strange to consider the reverse was true. In any case, the armour was shaped well, and it would fit better than the set she had worn at Ostagar. She pulled the pieces carefully from their place, and handed it out to Bodahn. 

“A good choice. He was about the same size as you, so it should fit well,” he said. 

Azry turned her attention to the weapons, looked for something Sten-sized. “What sort of weapon did you fight with before, Sten?” She called out. 

“A greatsword,” was his reply. She wondered if she misheard the sad note in his voice. There was a rack with a greatsword on it, but it was rather plain compared to the other glimmering weapons. She tried to lift it, and was surprised by the weight. She wasn't weak, but she certainly wasn't strong enough to lift this. 

“I can't lift it, but there's one in here,” Azry called out. She had to hold in her laughter as he tried to carefully climb into the caravan, and then shuffle awkwardly while bent double over to her. He first collected the sheath that was below the sword, and buckled it over his chest. It was only just big enough to fasten, and Azry had to bite her lip so she wouldn't laugh at his annoyed expression. He then lifted the sword with ease and shuffled back out of the caravan, sparing her a nod of thanks, and exiting. Azry followed him out, stopping at a rack of small knives. There was a long sheath with slots for about ten. They were perfect for throwing. She collected the sheath, and slid the knives into their spots. She fastened it experimentally around her waist. It was a little loose, but with her amour on it would no doubt fit better. 

Bodahn had the armour she'd chosen stacked next to him. Azry unfastened the belt with the throwing knives, her cloth belt and her sword sheathes and lay them as neatly as she could on the ground. Bodahn then helped her put the armour on, first the chest piece that fit snugly enough that Azry barely believed it wasn't made for her. While Bodahn helped fasten armour around her left arm, Alistair and Leliana finished collecting her arrows and were now peering curiously into the caravan. 

“Please, help yourselves! The other young ladies too, if they're so inclined,” Bodahn said, smiling over Azry's arm at Morrigan and Mahariel. Though she couldn't see her, Azry could feel the pure disgust rolling from Mahariel that she grinned. 

“I- thank you, I...I did see a rather better looking shield in there,” Alistair said, sounding guilty. Bodahn waved him into the caravan.

“You saved me and my boy. You can have whatever you like in there,” he said warmly. Alistair needed no further encouragement and Azry heard him grunt as he knocked into a few racks. 

Bodahn finished strapping on the last piece of the armour, and Azry flexed and swung her upper body to test the flexibility. The parts covering her hands were giving enough to let her make a fist and spread her fingers apart. She squatted and stood and found the action easy. It was perfect - armour made for quick movement. 

“It'll stop arrows and glancing sword blows,” Bodahn reported, a satisfied smile on his face as he nodded at her. 

“That's all I need. Thank you,” Azry replied. Bodahn shook his head.

“No thanks needed, young miss. I only hope it is helpful to you,” he said. 

“Enchantment!” Sandal exclaimed behind her. She turned to look at him, and he grinned, holding up a flat rock. On it was a swirling design that glowed faintly. 

“Yes, Sandal helped make it stronger. In it is a bit of magic. You'll find yourself able to fight for longer,” Bodahn explained, proudly. He was grinning at his son, fondness in his eyes. Azry missed her father so much in that moment it was almost a physical pain.

“But...dwarves cannot do magic,” Leliana said. She was staring at Sandal in confusion, dumbfounded by the glowing stone he held. 

“We cannot, and Sandal is no exception, it is just that he has a talent for crafting magical objects. No actual magic required, just lyrium and a natural talent!” Bodahn explained, gesturing at the stone. “He can make runes and infuse their power into arms and amour. A mage at the Circle called him a 'savant' once.”

“Well...what a useful skill to have,” Leliana said, not sounding very convinced, but smiling at Sandal all the same. He gave her a huge grin and pointed at her hair. 

“Red!” He said delightedly. Leliana laughed, and bent down so he could run his hands through it. 

“Say thank you to her, Sandal,” Bodahn told him. 

Alistair emerged with his new shield hanging from his pack, and Azry stirred from her thoughts and went to her weapons. She fastened her new belt of throwing knives first, finding that she was right and the belt fit perfectly over the leather armour now covering her hips. She tied her cloth belt around her waist, tying it as tight as the fabric allowed, and threaded her arms through her sword sheathes. 

“Where are you headed, Bodahn?” Alistair asked as Azry was fastening her swords over her chest.

“Redcliffe. I was in Lothering, but left when the bann did. Didn't want to be around when all those darkspawn got there,” Bodahn said gravely. Eddie wandered over, and sat next to Azry, nudging her leg with his nose. She scratched his head, trying to thread the leather through its buckle one handed. 

“We're heading there too. Would you like us to travel together? It might be good to have an armed escort,” Alistair offered. Azry gave him a withering look. Of course he would. It's not like they were on a short schedule or anything. 

Bodahn, thankfully, shook his head. “I'm afraid we would only slow you down. We aren't quick movers, and I have no doubt that whatever business Grey Wardens have in Redcliffe must be urgent,” he said, and Azry's jaw dropped. 

“How did you know?” Alistair said, sounding amazed. Azry's hand went to her hidden dagger, suddenly wary of the dwarf. She hadn't even considered this being a trap, what if Loghain's men were right behind them?

Bodahn gestured at Azry. “I saw your mark as you were taking your swords off. You have nothing to fear from us. We don't believe much human lords say,” he said, his tone reassuring. Azry's hand slipped from her dagger, trying to squash the shame she felt. She was only being cautious, she scolded her feelings. She still felt bad, especially since Bodahn had done nothing but help them in return and she had been so quick to blame him first.

“I suppose we will see you in Redcliffe, then. Unless you have armour for a qunari,” Azry said, looking over at Sten. He still had her pack, except now it rested over his sword. Bodahn shook his head again.

“Qunari don't sell their armour. Something religious about it,” he said, almost regretfully. “If I come across any on my way to Redcliffe, I will be sure to keep it for you.”

“There's no need-” Alistair began, but Bodahn was quick to wave away his words.

“There is every need. Should any of you need arms or armour, you are welcome to mine. Whenever you need it,” Bodahn said firmly. 

“That is very good of you,” Leliana said demurely. Her smile was beautific. Azry felt like rolling her eyes again. 

“We should go. We could still get to Redcliffe before nightfall,” Alistair said, and held his hand out to Bodahn, shaking it again and thanking him. Azry checked her weapons again, and then with a smile at Sandal, walked back towards the frozen man and Mahariel. She had unstrung and stowed her bow and was staring at a bit of gore on her arrow like it had personally offended her. 

“Do you need anything?” Azry asked her, and got a sneer in response. Mahariel didn't even look up to do it. Rather than goad her, Azry took a deep breath and schooled her expression away from tired grimacing. “Those shots were brilliant, by the way,” she offered. Mahariel looked up, scowling at her like she thought Azry was hiding something, and then her face relaxed into an almost smile. She nodded, wiped the gore from her arrow and slid it back into her quiver, fastening a piece of cloth over the top. She looked back up the highway, and then looked back at Azry, her eyebrow quirked. Azry considered it for a moment, and realised that Mahariel needed to be on her own for a while. They probably could use a quick scout ahead. “Not too far,” Azry warned, but nodded. Mahariel took off, her long legs taking steps Azry could never match. 

“I guess that's our cue to leave,” Leliana said, emerging from behind the bandit, Alistair in her wake. 

“We follow her. She won't go too far, hopefully, and she can outrun any other bandits should she come across any,” Azry said. She picked her way over the bodies, and with a wave to Bodahn and his son, continued down the highway in Mahariel's wake. Leliana and Alistair were right behind her, and she heard Morrigan scoffing as she followed too. 

There was suddenly a loud shattering noise. Azry, Alistair and Leliana spun as one, hands flying to their weapons. Sten was standing where the frozen bandit had been, the shattered remains at his feet. He returned his sword to his sheathe, his face still blank. 

“Adequate,” he said, and walked past a very impressed looking Morrigan. He continued past Azry, Alistair and Leliana, nodding at Azry as he kept going. They turned back, watching him as he went.

“Well,” Alistair said after a moment. 

“At least we know he can use it,” Leliana ventured. 

Azry took one deep breath in, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a rush. “Let's go. We're getting to Redcliffe before nightfall,” she said, moving to follow Sten and Mahariel, the others following behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redcliffe next chapter for real.


End file.
